The Good Luck Club
by Lolo84
Summary: Perpetually down on her luck, things start to turn around for Bella in the strangest of places. Her new job. At a strip club. When a certain … 'Client' takes an interest in her. But how long will that luck last? Romance/Suspense/Humor. AH. BPOV.
1. Chapter 1

**My new fic! Right . . . So I guesstimate it's gonna be about 80% fluff, 15% drama/Suspense and 5% angst but nothing heavy. It's just that some things gotta happen a certain way ya know! And please don't quote me on those percentages *snort* **

**Posting schedule? I suck at them but do like Sundays! ;-) However if I miss a Sunday don't hold it against me? :-p**

**Big thanks to my beta AJasperForMe and Twiddler83 and Vancouver-Canuck-Girl for pre-reading!**

**BPOV unless noted otherwise and the first EPOV doesn't come 'til much much later in the fic… Might not even be 'til the end as an outtake so yeah!**

**And Banner on my FB (Lolo Eighty-Four) made by the Fabulous 'LOT' Thanks, bb!**

**Okay... On with it! **

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"_Destiny is a good thing to accept when it's going your way.  
When it isn't, don't call it destiny; call it  
injustice, treachery, or simple bad luck."_

_-Joseph Heller_

**=1=  
**

"Fucking come on!" I shout, slamming my hands against my steering wheel as I feel my car barely puttering along beneath me.

"You piece of shit! Move, fucker!" It splutters then trembles, and I'm pretty sure it laughs a little before doing a little shake and stalling out.

"Fuck!" I stomp on the gas, trying to pump it with my foot - _Nothing_.

Then I try turning the key in the ignition—_Nothing_.

I sweet talk it for a little bit, hoping my soothing words will coax it into submission, but when that doesn't work, I resort back to telling the piece of shit how I really feel about it.

"Gah! I hate you!" I really do. My only wish is that it didn't hate me back. Granted, my car—a barely hanging on 2000 Ford Taurus—has been on its last leg for a while anyway, but it's the only one I have and could afford to put gas in.

"Damn you!" I scream again, and for good measure, start kicking at the floor and hitting the steering wheel a few more times. Once my tantrum is done and my palms are sufficiently tingling, and of course my throat sore, I do the only thing I can think to do—I start crying.

I wish I could tell you it's the cute 'silent sniffling' kind, but it isn't. Nope . . . It's the 'face scrunched up as if I've smelled something bad with my mouth gaping open and making ugly noises' cry. My car breaking down is really just the tip of the iceberg of my very shitty day and very shitty week I've been having. Actually, if I really want to get technical, it's been more like months, so it was no surprise to me I was in the middle of a meltdown.

Times had been a little rough you could say.

It all started about six months ago when I realized I wasn't finding a job. Yeah, I know finding work is hard in general, but as a brand spanking new college graduate, I was duped into thinking the world was my oyster and I was the wave of the future and all that shit. _Please_. What I was, was one of thousands of graduates all vying for the same damn job. Oh, sure, I got called in for interviews left and right—further fueling my delusion that finding work would be easy—but once they took a look at my lack of 'experience' it was _'don't call __us,__ we'll call __you'._

For a while I did my best to take all the rejection in stride, but my last interview didn't go as smoothly. It had been a long day, and I had already felt beaten down and defeated so when the lady told me she'd be in touch, I knew what that meant. However, I really needed to hear her say it. I didn't want hope, I needed brutal honesty and to know not to bother waiting for her call.

"Are you really going to call?" I had hedged. Again, I knew the answer but I needed to hear it.

"We're interviewing quite a few candidates, Miss Swan. I can't make any promises, but I will do my best to narrow down the most qualified and be in touch."

Wrong answer.

"Could you please just tell me I didn't get it," I begged.

"I'm not at liberty to make such a decision at the moment."

I was getting impatient with her evading my question. "Yeah, you are, and you've already made it. Just tell me." I all but demanded.

She sighed. "Okay. You're a very nice girl, Miss Swan." I scoffed; she could save me the patronizing. "And while your academic achievements are very impressive, we just need someone with more experience."

I was pissed. That was the third time I had heard the same excuse that week and my sanity started wavering. "More experience? _More experience_? Well, how the hell am I supposed to get 'more experience' if no one will hire me? Isn't that how people normally _get_ experience? By people actually giving them a chance? I know I can do this job. Just give me the chance. Please."

I was a shining example of someone on the edge as my voice raised in anger, lowered in disbelief, then softened to an almost pleading tone. I even went on to list off all the things I had done at school, awards I had won, clubs I was a part of, and about my work-study job— none of it meant shit.

She asked me, not so politely, to leave before she asked security to escort me out. I huffed and grabbed the mug the secretary had given me coffee in, declaring it was the least they could give me for wasting my time. After all, my resume hadn't changed from the time I submitted it to the time I sat down for the interview. They must have known they weren't going to hire me from the beginning.

The interviews continued, but my hope slowly died. I wasn't getting a job—in my field— and my bills didn't care. Like a baby who needs food no matter what, the electric company didn't care that I was out of work. They wanted their money one way or another.

I started doing temp jobs here and there but they were few and far between. It didn't take long before I was getting final notices on my bills and letters from Sallie Mae letting me know I was in danger of my school loans going into default. The coup de grace though, was when I got evicted from my apartment. That was a fun day, let me tell ya.

Finally, I climb out of my car, realizing I don't have enough time to continue the pity party that was underway. I'm already late for work; my first day of work, mind you, with no idea how I'm getting there now. Not a good look.

Well, it's actually my third day, the first two being training days, but today would be my first day out on the floor alone.

What floor you wonder? Well, the floors of '_Big Bang Cavier' _strip club, of course—BIG C, for short, because the name is just ridiculous.

I grab my purse, phone, and my keys while locking the car door behind me. I also scream and kick at it one more time in anger and frustration.

When I finally take in my surroundings, I panic a little. It's already getting dark out and no cars seem to be coming or going in my direction. My 'fight or flight response' can't decide if that's a good thing or not.

I look at my phone and notice I only have one bar of signal and just about 10% life left in my battery. Fuck! I'm basically a sitting duck and a psycho killer's wet dream right now. You couldn't write a better scene from a scary movie if you tried.

I quickly scroll through my contacts list, dialing the only useful number I have and cringe at what I know is coming.

"Bella, where the fuck are you?" she shouts over the music I hear in the background.

"Rose, my car died, but I'm on my way."

"Shit! How long 'til you get here? You're already late."

"I know, I know, and I'm so sorry. I'll be there as soon as I can. Can you please tell E- hello? Hello?" The silence on the other end and the black screen of my phone shows me the phone died and that 10% of juice I had left was bullshit. "Dammit!"

I start to get upset all over again because the last person I ever wanted to disappoint is Rosalie.

Just like when most things get fucked up in my life— like when I got evicted—she was the first person I called.

So when she offered me a place to stay, it was a no-brainer. I packed my things and moved in with her. Finding a job in my field quickly took the back burner. I needed to find anything and anyone who was willing to give me a paycheck. So I started working at a local grocery store. It was minimum wage but it gave me enough to help Rosalie out. But if my car is any indication to how my life works— last month the grocery store got tarnished in a fire. The first thing I thought of was 'fuck, now I'm unemployed, again'.

Don't worry, the store was closed at the time, so I immediately knew no one was hurt. Otherwise my unemployed status would have been the second thing to come to my mind. Sorry, but _how _the fire actually happened was never of consequence to me.

Anyway, after not knowing what to do, Rosalie made me an offer I couldn't refuse by promising me she could get me a job as a waitress at the topless club she dances at. Well, that may be a little bit of a fib 'cause its not a topless club. It's a good old-fashioned strip club but Rose only goes topless. If you're calling bullshit, you're not alone. I used to think she was full of shit when she would tell me that as well, but on my first day of training, Maggie—the waitress who trained me— told me Rose and another girl who went by 'Twiddler' were the only ones who got away with it.

Don't ask me why they call her that, 'cause I'm not sure. It was only briefly explained to me that it has something to do with a trick she does on stage. I'm a little excited to see it, to be honest.

I continue my hike to the club, wishing I was in an area where I could just hail a cab. Though it would be pretty irrelevant as I'm on some back road shortcut Rose told me to take. Only she would find the most deserted street in Miami as a shortcut. In the same token, I guess only I would be the dumbass to actually take her advice.

What ends up being almost an hour or so later, I slip into work. Unfortunately, I don't go unnoticed.

"Trying to get fired on your first real day?" I jump at the sound of Jacob's voice—one of the bouncers.

I sigh. "No, I had car trouble and ..." I stop myself at the look on his face.

"Do yourself a favor, sweetheart, save the excuses for someone else." I scowl at his tone, but his face softens and he winks. "I just mean that I couldn't care less that you're late is all. But unlucky for you, seems like a few other girls haven't shown yet either ... so Esme's out for blood."

My face pales a little. Esme Platt—my boss—is ... well, there aren't many varying words to describe a beautiful tyrant. The day of my mini-interview, which consisted of her looking me up and down, and telling me I was 'cute enough' to work for her, she made a girl cry with just a single look. Yeah, I don't want to be on her bad side. Ever.

When I look around and don't see Rosalie anywhere in sight, I sneak off to the back room. I find her getting dressed—well undressed and into another costume of sorts. I see her visibly breathe a sigh of relief then grimace a little when she notices me. I walk over to where she's standing by her locker-cubby thing.

"You okay?" she asks. I exhale at the concern in her voice, realizing she's worried and not too mad.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just gonna need a ride home now." She nods with a small smile but continues looking me over. "What?"

"You look like shit," she states, bluntly. The only way she knows how to talk. "Go wash your face and fix your hair. Then get on the floor before Esme comes looking for you. Again."

"Shit. She was looking for me?"

"Yup. Now get." She nods her head toward the bathroom. "And next time—" she waves her hands in the direction of my outfit, making me look down at my jeans and low cut top "— less is more."

I walk to the mirror, ignoring the reflection of naked bodies around me. I cringe when I catch sight of myself. Now I see what Rose meant. My hair—which was curled in nice, wavy brown locks when I left the house— has doubled in size from the humidity and sweat from my trek here. Said sweat has also affected my make-up to where my very cheap foundation is running in streaks down my cheeks.

Knowing I won't have time to do anything else, I borrow some of Rose's soap and quickly wash my face bare. Then, after running some water through my hair, I put it in a high ponytail. I frown at my reflection. With no make-up on and my hair up like this, it makes me look even younger than I already do. I'm 23 and still get carded for cigarettes.

Whatever. I don't have time to care. I walk back out to the floor and flirt, smile, and shake my hips for the right people. I'm getting tipped a lot but I'm not sure what that correlates to. I try not to count as I get them.

A couple hours have passed and I think I'm in the clear. It's a little past midnight and I'm taking a quick smoke break outside when Maggie pokes her head out. "Hey, Bella? Ms. Esme's looking for you."

Fuck.

I square my shoulders as I walk to Esme's office, but inside I'm trembling. I knock and then let myself in when I hear the gruff 'come in' from the other side of the door.

I stand there like an idiot for a few minutes, but her head is facing down and she doesn't acknowledge me.

"Maggie said you wanted to see me?"

Esme still doesn't look up but nods her head and tells me to have a seat.

After a few minutes she sets her pen down, and placing her hand on top of her desk, levels me with a blank stare.

"You can thank Rose's tits that you still have a job," she says flatly. "I need her around and I know firing her best friend isn't the best way to do that. However, I don't offer second chances. If you're ever as late as you were today, without even calling—"

"My phone—" She raises her hand to stop me.

"It makes no difference. You were late then tried to dodge me."

I can't deny that. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just don't give me another reason to call you in here."

She dismisses me, and though I'm thankful for that, I feel her eyes on me for the rest of the night. I know I'm on thin ice, so I make sure to work my ass off, knowing she's watching and not wanting her to see me mess up in any way.

It's funny though, 'cause I find out the next day Esme left right after we talked.

* * *

**Interesting … that must mean someone else was watching her… *taps chin and smirks***

**So what did you think?**

**You know the drill—I gotta know: Who's in?**

**~Lo **

**Muah**

***Big Bang Cavier'' is an expensive watch that apparently cost around 1 million bucks. So the club is loosely modeled after a club I bartended at that was also named after a famous watch.** I'll have to think of something special for anyone who guesses the right one! *snort***


	2. Chapter 2

**If ya don't know, I pulled to re-post to play by FFn rules with the M-rating bull! It's whack as fuck but it is what is it... If my fics ever got pulled I'd be pissed and hurt, so I'd rather not wait around to see if it happens! I'm too paranoid and high strung for that shit! LOL**

***** You can find NC-17 versions on my blog and TWCS. Links on my profile :-)**

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**The Correct answer to where I worked is: Rolex (Rollexx)... Interesting times I tell ya!**

* * *

_"Luck (good or bad) is not as random as you think_."

_-Vera Nazarian_

**=2=**

"Yo, Bella!"

I look up from the table I'm wiping down at the sound of Jacob's voice and notice he's all the way on the other side of the bar. Damn he's loud. "Yeah?"

"Someone left this for you," he says, waving a small white envelope in the air—a somewhat mischievous look in his eyes.

"Umm . . ." I look down at everything in my hand. Wet towel, spray bottle, gloves. "Can you hold onto it for me for a few?" I try and shout but it's strained. My voice just doesn't carry as much as his.

Not being able to hear me, Jacob strolls over in my direction, defeating the purpose of me telling him to hold onto the envelope for me. "Whad'ya say?"

"Never mind." I snicker, craning my neck all the way back to speak to him. Fucker's huge and just towers over me. "My hands are wet. Can you put it in my pocket for me?" He clears his throat a little uncomfortably, and it's then I realize I had unceremoniously stuck my ass out and in the air toward him.

"Oh, sorry. How about this?" I turn around to offer him my front pocket only to realize I am now thrusting my crotch at him.

Well hello, embarrassment.

"How 'bout—" he starts, letting his eyes roam over me "—this," And with a laugh, he sticks it under my arm.

"Thanks." I chuckle.

"Don't mention it. Hey by the way, good job tonight. I can tell you're more comfortable."

"Well . . ." I shrug. "I'm a little used to feeling Esme's eyes on me now."

His lips curve down into a frown, making his youthful, tan face look aged. "What are you talking about?"

"Since I was late and all that yesterday, I got a pretty clear warning not to fuck up again. She watched me all night and again tonight. I'm sure she's waiting for a slip-up so she can fire my ass."

Slowly shaking his head, he says, "Bella, Ms. Esme hardly ever stays all night. And when she does, it's not to stay out here and watch you guys. She has cameras in her office for that. If someone was watching you, it wasn't her!"

"That's . . . a really creepy way to word that sentence."

"I realized that too late," he tells me sheepishly, scrunching up his nose. "Anyway, I'm off for the night. Make sure Aro, Paul, or Quil walk you ladies out to your car when you're leaving."

"Okay." I nod, even though I have no intention of bothering the other bouncers—well, Aro doubles as a bar back, but whatever. When I look over and see a few girls coming out of the dressing rooms, I tell him, "Shouldn't be much longer now."

"Good." With another reminder to make sure we're walked to the car, Jacob leaves.

As soon as I finish wiping down the rest of my tables, I sit down at a booth and begin to count my tips while I wait for Rosalie.

I did really good last night and decent tonight, but I suspect I'd do more if I adopted Rose's 'less is more' philosophy when it came to clothes and bothered to put some make-up on my face.

Yesterday's was washed off because of sweat. Today the make-up didn't even make it on my face due to sheer laziness.

A few minutes later, Rosalie walks out with a girl I've never seen before. She's short, shorter than my 5'3"; and she's wearing jean shorts, a white tank top and her jet black hair is piled on top of her head in a lazy ponytail.

"Bella, this is Twiddler. Twiddler, Bella."

"Nice to meet 'cha," she says sweetly, voice laced with a thick accent. With a firm handshake for me and a hug for Rose, she wishes us a good night and tells Rosalie she'll be back to work tomorrow.

I'm excited for this. I want to see her trick.

"How'd you do?" Rose asks as soon as we're in the car.

My smile can't be contained. "A little over two hundred dollars."

"Nice!"

"It'll probably cost me that, plus what I made yesterday, just to fix my car. But at least I _can,_ you know," I tell her proudly. I can look at is as 'damn, I'm going to have to spend all my money to fix my shit-box car', or realize I'm—for the first time in a while—a little lucky to actually have the money. I go for the latter.

"Well . . . if you want to hold out on the car, you know you can always use mine."

Doesn't take me long to ponder this. "That'll be helpful," I tell her. "At least until I can save a little bit more."

"Then it's settled."

I smile at her with gratitude. I'm not one to take advantage of people's kindness, or seek out help, but I'm also not one to turn it down when it's offered. It doesn't come my way often.

"Hey, can I use your phone?" Rose asks, suddenly.

I'm reaching into my purse to grab it before she finishes her sentence. "Sure. Everything okay?"

"Yeah," she chuckles. "Call this number for me." Once she's done prattling them off, she reaches her hands out and I place it in her palm. After a few seconds with the phone pressed to her ear, she shrugs and hands it back to me. "Thanks."

"Umm . . . okay?"

"I've called Emmett like twice today and he hasn't answered. I wanted to see if he'd answer if he thought it was someone else."

"Don't tell me you guys are _already_ fighting. Didn't you just start dating like two weeks ago?"

"We are . . . and yes," she answers both of my questions.

"That's gotta be a record," I tease her. "Do I even want to know?"

"He told me to stop working at the club," she says simply.

"Ah . . . I see." If worded the right way, you can ask Rose to do just about anything. She's just such a genuinely nice person that the shirt on her back means nothing to her if she thinks someone needs it. But to _tell_her to do something? Yeah, no.

"Exactly," she snorts. "Will I stop working there? Of course. I'm not gonna be fifty with my tits down to here—" she touches somewhere near her hip "—before I quit. But I'm not gonna do it 'cause someone I've only been dating for a few weeks, who I also met _at_ the club, says so. I won't do that controlling bullshit. Never again."

For a second, I allow myself to remember a time I would sooner forget. As strong and sweet as Rosalie is, she somehow got suckered into a relationship with the world's biggest douche nozzle. Royce King. She met him our senior year in high school, and after three years of what I know—even though she denies—was major abuse, she left Royce and moved here to Florida. Not a far distance from Georgia, in theory, but still a random move.

The first thing she did was walk into the strip club and ask for a job. She didn't feel like starting college, having never gone after high school because Royce was so damn demanding. And she knew, with what little self-esteem she had left, she did have a body men would literally pay for.

I remember the phone call I got from her after not hearing from her in months.

"I got a job flashing my tits four days a week," she had said in a bored tone. "And no, not for just beads." Before I could say anything, she had piped back in. "I know it's not ideal, but it's better than nothing and I really need you to be a friend on this. No judgment."

"I'm in the no judgment zone," I promised. "Just be careful."

I was glad I ended up having nothing to worry about because she was lucky it ended up being one of the more 'higher class' gentlemen's clubs, versus the nasty-ass, hole-in-the-wall, everyone's-secretly-a-prostitute ones.

"I'm starving," she grumbles, bringing my attention back to her. "What should we eat?"

Glancing at my phone, and then sliding it into my back pocket, I snicker. "It's after three in the morning. Water."

Ignoring me, she drives to a 'Miami Subs' drive-thru—ordering enough food to feed an army. Since I'm not hungry, I simply order a large Coke, which I suck down in less than two minutes. By the time we pull into the parking lot of our apartment, I almost tear the door off the hinges, needing to pee so badly.

It's a simple building, three stories and about six apartments all together with only two flights of stairs. So, thankfully, I don't piss myself before I make it to the bathroom.

I do, however, forget I put my phone in my back pocket and as soon as I slide my jeans down, I hear the unmistakable sound of metal hitting the bottom of the toilet.

"Fuck!"

Now it's time to make a decision. But before I can contemplate the sanitary options of just reaching my bare hand into the toilet, my full bladder wins out. When I'm done handling my business, I look under the bathroom sink and realize there are no gloves there. Heading into the kitchen, Rosalie almost knocks me down, her own Coke catching up to her.

As I'm looking under the kitchen sink for gloves, I hear an everyday sound that normally wouldn't affect me, but . . . "Noo!" I shout, tearing into the bathroom in an attempt to stop the demise of my phone from happening.

It's too late. I want to cry, but instead of being met with sympathy, Rose just looks over at me like I'm crazy.

"What?"

"You just flushed my phone."

**_((LUCK))_**

"One-hundred, eighty-three dollars, and fifteen cents," I grumble the next day, showing Rosalie my new phone.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," she whispers from next to me but I sigh, my grumblings not at her, per se.

"Rose, it was an accident. I'm the one who dropped it in the first place. It's not like you were looking to see if there were any stray objects in the toilet before you flushed."

"Eww! Definitely wasn't."

Laughing softly, I take my phone back and start playing with it. It's a much nicer phone than the one I had, and I actually got a deal on it, but it's just an expense I hadn't planned on, you know. And not having a phone in this day and age is kind of irresponsible. We don't have a house phone, so if anything ever happens, I'd definitely be screwed with no way of getting in touch with anyone.

"Let me buy you lunch," she offers sadly, clearly feeling way more guilty than she should. There's a good chance the phone had drowned itself beyond repair once it fell into the water, but she refuses to hear any of it. "I got some time before I have to get to work."

"Rose, it's cool. Promise." I smile at her. "I'm off tonight anyway**—**I don't work on Sundays, so I have plenty of time to make something. No need in spending money."

She frowns but relents as we chat a little absentmindedly about my new phone and what she plans on wearing tonight. Something about an outfit she forgot she even had until today.

"Oh, I did your laundry—"

"Rose."

"Not out of guilt," she rushes out, but I give her a skeptical look. "Okay, maybe feeling bad about the phone thing had something to do with it, but I was doing mine too."

"Fair enough. Thanks."

She bobs her head up and down. "Don't sweat it. But an envelope had fallen out of your pocket, I took it out but it's still with all your clothes.

In the hoopla of my phone taking its own life, I had forgotten all about the envelope. For some reason, I feel a sense of overexcitement mixed with nervousness come over me as I rush to my room to retrieve it.

Fishing through the hamper, I giggle when I find the, somewhat now crumpled, envelope.

"Someone left this for me," I tell Rose, walking back into the living room. "Last night, someone left this for me with Jacob."

"Oh! Open it! Open It! I bet it's a tip."

With a wide smile, I almost rip the envelope in two but I'm confused when I see inside it's just a blank card.

"That's the card they use to reserve tables at the club," Rose explains. "There's some writing on the back."

Flipping it to the other side, I notice a somewhat messy scrawl, as if someone was rushing when they wrote it.

_*I Know You're New. So You Don't Know How Things Work.  
But It's Customary Here To Leave Your Favorite Girl a Tip.  
Yesterday You Became Mine.*_

I purse my lips, turning the card over and over in my hands. "Is this a joke?" Apparently it's not 'cause when I open the actual card five $100 bills slip out.

"Holy shit!"

"Wow," Rose beams. "Looks like someone has a secret admirer."

"Yeah, but who?"

* * *

**Btw ... I NEVER got tipped that much~ *snort***

**~Lo**


	3. Chapter 3

_Learn to recognize good luck when it's waving at you,  
hoping to get your attention_  
_—Sally Koslow_

**=3=**

As I push through the slight crowd huddled around the bar, I glare at one of the guys who attempts to grab my ass. "Don't even fucking think about," I hiss at him. Looking back at one of our bartenders, Leah, I tell her I have an order with a slight mischievous twinkle in my eye. I know she hates making these 'ruity tuity fruity' drinks as she call them.

"Shoot!"

"Okay. So we have three Cosmos, two Sex on the Beach, one Midori Sour, an apple martini, and a shot of Johnnie—blue label." At that her head pops up, her normally constant expression of not amused turning to that of impressed, but I quickly squash it. "It's for someone else not associated with their little party."

She grumbles, quickly mixing up my drinks and offering me a smile before handing them off and sending me on my way. I beam back at her. A Leah smile is as good as an 'in' in this place because she apparently only dishes them out once in blue moon and only to a select few.

When I make my way back to the cackling group of girls, I roll my eyes at the bunch, half of which can't figure out if they should be offended by their surroundings and the other half with their constant whining of 'Come on! Don't be a party pooper!'.

You know what you do with party poopers?" I offer my two cents. "Tell them to go the fuck home."

Making my way around the only one of the group who seems to be freely enjoying herself, I set their drinks on the table, pretending to be thankful for the bullshit tip they give me. Then I make my way to the older gentleman sitting off on the other side of the bar.

"Here you go, handsome." I smile, setting down his shot of scotch.

"Thanks, beautiful." He winks, handing me a few twenties and telling me to keep the change. If I could blush, I would. Some of the guys here are creepy and definitely feel entitled, but this guy, who's been here almost every night since I've worked here, has always been respectful. And if not for the fact he's clearly old enough to be my father . . . let's not go there, even that wouldn't stop me.

What's stopping me? A clear warning, Courtesy of Esme, the first day I met him that I would get skinned alive if the flirting got laid on too thick.

"Anything else I can get you?" I try not to purr while staring into his baby blue eyes, but I'm sure I fail.

"No, thanks." He shakes his head, his light blond hair, with a dusting of grey around the corners, shaking as well.

Swaying my hips a little more than I should, I make my way around the club, checking to see if anyone else is in need of my services, waving and smiling to a few familiar friendly faces along the way.

I've been here a couple weeks now, not counting the days of training, and quickly learned the people who come here just about every day. Some sleazy, of course, others just coming over after work for a drink during happy hour, and staying a while once the 'entertainment' starts.

It's always an interesting crowd, every day's different. And I quickly figured out—something some of the girls seem to overlook: the blue-collar workers tip far more than the blue suits, who stroll in here like they fucking own the place, ever will. With the exception of a few people—'Blue eyes' especially. As well as my fabulous tipper slash secret admirer, if that's what you want to call him.

I still have no idea who he is, and with the exception of his lone note, I haven't heard from him. However, every time I start my car, courtesy of the money he gave me, he's on the forefront of my mind.

After making sure no one seems to be empty-handed in the drink department, I give Maggie the signal I'm stepping outside for a few minutes, and that she needs to get off her lazy ass and actually do something. I'm not sure how she hasn't gotten fired yet, she doesn't seem to do much—other than flirt with the bouncers. Oh well, the less work she does, the more tips I get, I reason. So I try not to complain too much.

Once I'm outside, I lean my head against the wall, light a smoke and close my eyes, almost moaning when I feel the nicotine flowing through me. Yeah, it's a nasty fucking habit, you don't have to tell me, but it calms me down and is much better than stuffing a fucking pizza down my face. Which trust me, I'm very liable to do.

"Mind if I bum one?"

I look over and see Aro, who doubles as a bar back and bouncer, standing there, shuffling from one foot to the other. "Sure, Aaron," I tease him, using his real first name and causing him to look down and smile shyly. I watch him—with a new found appreciation—as he licks his lips before bringing the small stick to his mouth and lighting it.

At first glance, he's just another tall, lanky kid with long black hair. But at work, he likes to slick it back into a ponytail. And with the way I've seen him haul large buckets of ice and boxes of the bottled liquor, I know he's packing some muscle under there. He's kinda hot. Unfortunately, he's barely eighteen. I might not mind older guys or a slight age difference, say if he was twenty-one to my twenty-three, but him not even being legally allowed to drink? I pass.

"So, where's the girlfriend?" I try and start a conversation. "Jane, right? She's a pretty one."

His forehead crinkles. "She dumped me."

"Oh. Well, she was a skank anyway." I wave my hand in the air. "You're better off."

He chuckles at my horrendous attempt at comfort. "Thanks, Bella."

"No problem." I hand him another smoke. "You're young." I barely notice his face fall at my comment. "What I mean is . . . you have ages to worry about girls and shit. You don't wanna get tied into a serious relationship too young. I did that and—" I make an ugly face and noise from my throat to accompany it "—it's for the birds."

Clearly not one to pry too much, he doesn't ask about said relationship. After quietly inhaling a few more years of our lives away, we make it back inside, him to the ice bin and me to the floor.

When he passes by me taking a drink order from another gaggle of annoying girls, who elbow each other and flip their hair as soon as he walks by, I wiggle my eyebrows at him knowing he noticed.

"You girls got boyfriends?" I ask them.

"We do," one of the girls answers, pointing to herself and another one of the four. "But they don't, and Jessica's crushing on that one." She points to Aro.

"Oh my, God," the girl she points to, Jessica, squeals and almost bends her poor friend's finger back. I snicker, walking over to Aro and letting him know he has an admirer before making my way back to Leah to order the drinks. She's in a funky mood compared to earlier in the night but I don't ask why. I don't envy her job. I can easily walk away when some jerk-off annoys me. She however—along with the other bartender, Sam—are stuck behind the confines of the bar all night without much of an escape.

The night's almost winding down when I hear the DJ announcing 'Ivy' as the next dancer. I smile when I see Rose, finally making her way out. The crowd goes crazy—me included—hooting, hollering and whistling when she starts her signature little strut around the stage.

"So you and the kid?"

I look over and up at Jacob. "What?"

He nods his head to Aro, who immediately ducks his head down when I notice him looking over in my direction. "I saw you two together earlier. Looks like he's got a boner for you."

I scrunch up my nose. "First off, he's twelve. Second, why were you watching me, freak?"

"Flattered?"

"Creeped out."

He throws his hand over his chest. "Ouch. Well, there goes any hope of us ever dating." I roll my eyes playfully at him—knowing if anyone is to ever try and date me, it wouldn't be him. I don't think two people could have less chemistry in that arena than the two of us. Plus, he's been happily married to a sweet girl named Angela for a couple years now. Not without lack of trying from the other girls, we're all aware he's one of the good and faithful guys. "Anyway, someone's asking for you upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"Yeah." He nods, pinching my chin gently and bringing my gaze almost all the way up to the ceiling. "You see those dark windows?" I nod. "That's the room for the more . . . uh 'special' clients."

"Oookkkaaay." I squint my eyes, trying to see if I can actually see through it. Obviously I can't. "And they asked for me? Or just for a waitress?"

"You."

"Where's Maggie?"

He huffs. "She's in a room downstairs, doing whatever the fuck she does. Now, hurry. You don't wanna keep him waiting."

"Keep who?" He doesn't answer, thrusting a small tray in my hand and swatting my backside. "Ow! I'm telling Angela," I call out over my shoulder, heading to the stairs. At first, it's a little bit of a task finding my way. Of all the areas I was shown, this wasn't one of them. I mean, I knew an upstairs existed but I was told it wasn't an area I'd ever have to worry about. I pretty much convinced myself it was some sort of storage room. When I finally make my way up the winding stairs, a big guy is blocking the door I assume I'm supposed to go in. I can tell he's there as some sort of an intimidation tactic, but I'm not fazed.

"Ummm . . . right, so someone asked me to come up here. I'm assuming I'm supposed to take an order?"

Without an actual verbal answer to my question, he nods and moves out of my way. "Thanks," I mutter, suppressing an eye roll.

When I push the door open, I notice the same music from downstairs is pumping through the speakers in the room but much quieter. There's a couple of plush leather couches, some tables, what looks like a bar in the corner but void of any bottles or a person behind it, as well as about ten or so people.

Taking in the scene around me, it's odd because it's almost the same exact picture you see downstairs but a little more . . . tasteful? There's a couple of guys, who barely look up when I walk in, and a couple of girls who are dressed as if they should be working downstairs—however, I've never seen them before. There's not really any lap dances going on, no nudity, but you don't forget—despite the different vibe—you're still in a strip club. Maybe the glass looking over the expanse of the floor downstairs has something to do with it. It casts a shiver down my spine at the fact anyone could be up here just watching us. I'm sure not everyone knows this room is here. I sure didn't.

The shiver, as it turns out, is because someone _is _staring at me. Once I'm done surveying everyone in the room, I lock eyes with a man sitting in the corner, leaning on his elbows with his hands clasped low in front of him. I can't really see his face well, but since no one else seems to acknowledge my existence, I know it's safe to assume he's the one who called me over.

"Hi." I greet him. He leans back against the chair but doesn't respond. The action immediately frazzles me. It's not a rude gesture, I don't think, but his penetrating gaze momentarily makes me forget what to say. Plus, with him leaning back, it allows some light to shine on his face and . . . good God. I have absolutely no fucking clue how to describe the color of his hair—somewhere in between red and brown maybe, but it's tousled in what looks like organized chaos. His eyes—fuck me—are a weird brown color, that almost looks like the color of honey or gold. His face—I can tell he's much older than me, but way younger than blue eyes; his chin—lickable, and his lips—suckable. And as I'm staring at the suckable lips, I see them slowly curling up into a smile, making me snap my gaze back to his eyes.

The look on his face shows me, not only did he witness my eye molestation, but it also amuses him. And, unfortunately, he knows the affect he has on women.

I sober up quickly—no longer awed, thanks to the arrogance and cockiness emanating from him. "What can I do for you?" I ask. Bending his elbows on the arms of the chair, he tents his hands and rubs them together with a quick lick of his lips. I scoff. "I mean to drink. You're clearly the one who called me up?"

"I am," he answers, his voice so deep I can hear it vibrate.

When he doesn't elaborate, meaning answer my first question properly, I inhale through my nose and grit my teeth. "And what would you like to drink tonight?"

He pauses, eyes scrutinizing, then looks around the room. "Ten shots of Remy."

"Okay." I nod and make my move to leave, but he reaches out and pulls me back by my wrist, leaving it wrapped loosely enough I don't feel the need to wrench it away. "What?"

With a wink he lets me go. "And something for you—if you want."

I nod, releasing my hand and rush back out to the main floor, feeling as if I'd been holding my breath the entire time. I duck behind the bar to pour the drinks myself, after shouting to Leah what I needed and her giving me a quick nod of approval.

When I get back upstairs, successfully balancing the drinks on the small tray, I find the guy standing up and staring out the glass with his back to me, a drink in hand. I narrow my eyes at him. "How'd you already get a drink?"

He shrugs without looking back at me. "I had it before, you just didn't notice." I look around and notice there are indeed a few cups littered around the room. "Who trained you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You're new. Who trained you?"

"How'd you . . . never mind. Maggie."

He nods, and finally looking back at me says, "She didn't do a very good job."

"Excuse you!" Jesus Christ, what a jackass. "Is that your way of saying I suck at my job?"

"Not at all. You're just not very smart at it. How much?" He gestures to the tray of drinks, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of money.

"One-hundred-sixty dollars." His hand stills, and he slowly looks up at me, shaking his head with an amused grin.

"See. Not very smart. What you shoulda done was ask me _what kind_ of Remy I wanted 'cause I happen to know, with that price, you just gave me VSOP—the lower shelf Remy. I also happen to know we carry Louis XIII, which is almost fifty bucks a shot and starts at a stack for a bottle." He says this while handing me over a few bills. "Being that I'm up here—" he opens his hands, palm up in reference to the room "—one would assume I would be able to afford the premium top shelf shit." He smirks now. "But that kind of hustle comes with time. So it's not your fault. Mags should have trained you better." Almost yanking the money out of his hand, I thank him tersely. I'm so aggravated at his clear patronizing, I have no sense of double checking how much he actually gave me.

I'm also a little annoyed at myself, 'cause everything he just said is true. He's right, Maggie didn't train me well, but the other girls—dancers and waitresses alike—as well as Leah and Sam, did teach me to try and 'up sell' from time to time. Meaning make more money for the club, while putting more money in my pocket at the same time.

"Anything else I can get for you?" My smile is tense, my voice strained, but he smiles wide as we hear the announcement coming through the speakers.

I almost knock him over rushing to the window in time to see 'Twiddler' coming on the stage. I watch in awe as she practically glides through the air, almost suspended as if she doesn't need the support of the pole beam. First by her hand, then her arm twisted in a funky position before she lands in a split, almost crawling back up the pole with just the help of her dainty feet.

"Holy shit." Hearing the guy next to me chuckling at my reaction makes me look over at him with a somewhat awkward grin on my face. "We're never working at the same time, so I'd yet to see her trick."

He nods in understanding. "When she's done, I want you to bring her up here for me."

I try to hide my frown, but I nod at his request. Guys ask me to bring girls to them for dances and shit all the time. But for some reason, this guy, it makes my heart crack for the briefest second before I snap out of it. "What's in it for me?" I cock an eyebrow, determined to play his game from before. If he wants to see me 'hustle' as he likes to call it, he's gonna need to give me _something_ for taking time to go down there and bring her back up.

He smiles, a look of pride on his face, as he pulls out his money clip, pinches a few bills and pulls them out. He leans over, slowly sliding his hand into my back pocket but I grab his wrist before he can curl his fingers and grab my ass. Taking a step away from him, I tell him, "I'll be right back."

"Might not be as quick as you think," he says cryptically. "But, I'll be here. Take your time."

I rush downstairs, waiting in the wings of the stage as Twiddler finishes her routine. "That was great," I gush to her as she steps off, pulling on a shirt over her head as soon as she's out of sight.

"Thanks, darling." I stand there awkwardly as she drinks down a glass of water. "Okay, so what's up? I know you're not just standing there to stare at me."

Her voice is so sweet, it's hard to take her brashness in an insulting way. "Well—" I clear my throat "—there's this guy upstairs asking for you."

"Asking for me how?" She almost glares at me.

"Umm . . . well, I was up there serving him drinks and when you started dancing, he asked if I could bring you up there to him."

She scoffs dismissively. "Sorry, but I don't do privates."

My eyes widen. "P-pri –"

"Private parties, private dances, private rooms; I don't do them."

"Oh." I frown deeply, wondering if I avoid going back up there for the rest of the night if I'd be able to keep whatever tip he gave me.

"Yup. And, all the guys—regulars at least—know that." When she says this, my hands clench into fists as I look up in the direction of the glass. That bastard must have known that, what with his vast knowledge and cryptic comment about me not coming back as quick as he thinks. Following my gaze, I see Twiddler look up as well. "Wait, you mean up there?" She points. I nod, and she does a little huff and growl combo. "Come with me." She grabs my arm, pulling me along.

"Why? Where are we going?"

"To set someone straight."

With a strength you wouldn't think someone as tiny as she is would have, she practically drags me up the stairs, elbowing the weird bodyguard guy in the gut, and barreling through the door.

"I knew it!" She laughs, letting go of me and smacking the guy—you know the one—in the chest a few times. In response, he bends down, almost at the waist, because he's so much taller than her, in an attempt to bury his face in her cleavage area. "Edward, stop it." She giggles, pushing him away. "Or I'm telling Jasper. Better yet, I'll tell Esme you're harassing her girls."

"Awwh, come on," he whines, giving her a wide, almost boyish grin. I hear her asking him when he came back and see him leaning down again to whisper in her ear before I busy myself gathering the now empty glasses I brought to him.

"Come meet Bella." My entire body snaps up rod-straight. "And while you're at it, you can apologize to her for being a dick."

"What? I wasn't a—" I can't help but give him a somewhat challenging look. "Was I really?" He pouts, and I shrug, trying not to smile. "Well then, Bella, I apologize."

"Don't mention it. Consider us even since I'm not giving you your tip back." He laughs and this time, I do crack a smile.

The action makes him cock his head to the side a little and bite his bottom lip. Annndd bye-bye innocent looks. His cocky and arrogance immediately comes back full force. "Do you dance?"

"Uh . . . no."

"Shame."

"Alright, that's enough." Twiddler jumps in. "You've harassed the poor girl enough. Let us get back to work."

"I'll see you around then, Bella." He winks, almost purring my name. Then he nods at Twiddler. "Ali."

"That's your real name?" I ask her as we make our way down the stairs.

"It's Alice actually. But you can call me Al or Ali." She shrugs. "Everyone seems to shorten it somehow." I smile. I know first names are as good as acceptance. "Oh, and Bella."

"Yeah?"

"Watch out for that one."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"Edward," she stops, a very wide smile on her face, "likes you. And when he has his sights set on something . . ." she trails off, chuckling and shaking her head.

"Likes me? He just met me." She doesn't respond, patting my shoulder and walking off. "Weird girl," I mutter to myself.

But later I realize what she meant, when as I'm getting ready for bed, I reach into my back pockets and realize Edward tipped me with five crisp $100 bills.

* * *

**If you're reading for the first time: Lemme introduce ya to Cockyward! :-) Mind the AH, the eyes might throw ya off, but he's not a vamp lol **

***Oh and when I worked at the club—I indeed learned the blue collar guys tipped me farrrr more than the corporate jackasses. Even some so called 'celebrities' were the worst tippers.***

**Sooo whatcha think?**

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

_Luck is believing you're lucky.  
-Tennessee Williams_

**=4=**

_*Not Crazy About The New Outfits. But I Have My Reasons For That.  
You're Still My Favorite Girl.*_

If it's possible, I simultaneously smile and scowl at the note in my hand. The smile is 'cause, though I appreciate the tip—no need to lie about that—it's also because I've gotten pretty used to Edward's letters over the past few weeks. Three weeks since we met to be exact, and they always make me feel a little giddy inside. Like that feeling I used to get in school when someone I liked—ironically—passed me a note, or whispered to a friend that they liked me or something along those lines.

I've gotten five more, so six in total, which has me calculating Edward comes to the club twice a week, all on different days.

Even when he's a pompous ass, I still manage a smile on my face. For example, his last note—on Tuesday, today is Friday—was a bit of a dig. After a fight broke out, and I was unwillingly caught in the middle of flying fists, I dropped a pretty expensive bottle of champagne. In his letter he teased me for being a klutz, something I assure you I'm not, then informed me he would take care of the 'bill' on my behalf.

Yeah, it's definitely a 'you break it, you buy it' workplace and I didn't have the near three hundred dollars to replace the bottle, so I was beyond grateful for that. But I still haven't gotten a chance to thank him for it, which leads us to the scowl. The scowl is for two reasons. One, it means Edward was here tonight and he didn't ask for me. And even though he's yet to actually own up to being the one leaving me notes, I think it's pretty obvious. Another reason for the scowl is his actual comment.

"Not crazy about my outfit?" I stick my tongue out at the piece of paper in my hand. " Well . . . I like it ... so there."

"You okay, Bella?"

I almost fall out of my chair when I look up from the bar and notice Leah's face—her almost eerily black eyes and round overly-tanned face—is only inches from mine. That is, of course, after I almost punch her in the face in surprise.

She chuckles—whether at her scaring me or seeing me quickly retract my fist, I'm not sure.

"Another note?" This time she's teasing me and I give her the finger in response. It's been an ongoing joke around here ever since Maggie thought Jacob and I were passing notes two weeks ago. She was teasing us good naturedly, but I could see a slight blush on Jacob's tan cheeks—as well as a little fear behind his eyes. I couldn't blame him. As nice as his wife is, the last thing we needed was for anyone to take Maggie's joking seriously and it get back to Mrs. Black. She's tall—a little over six feet—and even though I know I could hold my own in a fight, I'm sure in the end she would take me down.

So, when Jacob informed Maggie, and half the staff who was listening, the notes were from a secret admirer—refusing to give us a name no matter how much we tried to bribe him—it quickly become everyone's source of entertainment.

Without warning, Leah grabs the note out of my hand, scowls at it a little but then passes it to Sam—who doesn't read it—but then passes it to Aro. Thus beginning a rousing game of 'keep away'.

"Seriously, guys!?" I jump up, trying to grab it out of Sam's hand, who's holding it above his head and out of reach from me. I swear he's like seven feet tall. "I will not be held responsible if the next time I jump, my knee connects with . . ." immediately his hands drop to protect himself, and I almost rip the note in half while grabbing it from him. "Victory is mine!" I taunt smugly—throwing in a little dance. He chuckles and tries to flick some water at me before busying himself with wiping down the bar.

"Not sure what the hell about that had you smiling." I look back over to Leah at her comment.

"Huh?"

"The note." She nods at my hand. "The guy sounds like a dick. But I do agree. I hate the new wardrobe. Don't let yourself get caught up in the bullshit. You look fine just the way you are."

Whatever. I don't see what the big deal is, but this had been another hot topic of conversation for the past couple days. I've been trying out the whole 'less is more' thing and apparently some people weren't as impressed with me in shorts and low cut tops as others.

One guy—a regular named Jared—even went as far as commenting on it, saying he liked me better without the half-naked outfit and shit ton of make up. Plain and simple. Yeah, I'm sure he meant it to drive his point home, like saying I like your other outfits; period. Or 'simple as', but all I heard was 'plain and simple' and almost hulked out on him. I'd been called both a few times in my life, but there is nothing fucking wrong or plain with brown hair and brown eyes. Brown is the color of chocolate and I'm partial to some fucking chocolate.

"Alright, so am I good to go? You guys need me for anything?"

"You can go if you want but it's payday."

"Damn, already?" Holy shit . . . time flies.

"I don't know about 'already'." Leah snorts. "We get paid the first Friday of the month. So technically it's been a month. Seems like forever to me."

I nod. I started the week they got paid—this will actually be my first payday here, so this means I've been here for a little over a month. Had it not been for the exorbitant amount of tips I've been getting, I would have probably been keeping track a little more.

A few minutes later, 'blue eyes' comes out of Esme's office—instantly commanding everyone's attention with his mere presence. "Great job everyone," he says with a smile, handing Aro a check, followed by Sam, Leah, then me.

"Bella." He winks.

I don't ask why he's the one divvying out our pay—or why he's just paying the 'wait' staff. I guess it doesn't really matter. "Thanks." I smile, slipping the envelope into my back pocket. I try not to make eye contact for too long when I see Esme's eyebrow arch as she walks past us to go into the girls' change room. "They'll probably be a while, huh?" I ask Leah, gesturing in the direction of the door Esme just entered.

"Yeah." She nods. "They typically all work tonight, so Miss Esme has her meetings with them then."

"Okay." I look over at Jacob, who's standing off to the side with Paul and Quil—the other bouncers, who could double as his brothers with their tans, massive muscles, and overall gigantic statures. "You guys have to stay, right? Can you tell Rose I went home?"

"Fellas—" 'Blue eyes' clears his throat and looks at them pointedly, almost as if he can't believe what he's seeing "—walk the ladies to their cars. As you should be doing every night."

"Of course," Jacob offers quickly.

Leah and I both roll our eyes. I mean, it's cute how the guys are all super protective of us but walking the two yards to our car is hardly cause for the fuss.

"They do—don't worry." I stick up for them.

"Good." Then he gives Jacob another pointed look before turning to walk away.

"You're not in trouble or anything are you?" I tease Jacob as Leah loops her arm through mine, and we make our way out.

"Trouble!?" He chuckles and shakes his head, but not in a way that shows he's actually answering my question. More like 'I can't get in trouble, you silly girl.' Even Leah chuckles a little.

I don't get it.

"Well . . . this is me," I announce—fanning my right arm over the hood of my car like a girl on a game show.

Jacob's eyes shoot up a bit. "Is it safe?"

"Hey!" I rush over and clamp my hand over his mouth. "My car is a temperamental bitch. If she stops working 'cause you hurt her feelings, I _will_ cut you." I walk back to lean on my car and tap the side door. "Don't listen to them, sweetheart," I coo. They laugh but whatever. With my new found cash flow, I've been able to change not one, not two, but THREE parts it needed. On the outside it might look like it's about to fall apart. But on the inside, it's never driven so smoothly. "So I'll see you guys tomorrow?" I turn back to address them.

"Not me." Jacob shakes his head. "I got tomorrow off. So, Sunday?"

"Nice." I give him a high-five. Saturdays are the best and worst day to work. It's the day that tests every ounce of patience you have left. But . . . "I don't work Sundays and I think I have Monday off too, so I won't see you until Tuesday. Try not to miss me."

Putting his hands over his heart, he nods slowly. "I'll try my best."

I laugh, then after giving him and Leah a quick hug, I hop in my car and drive off. On my way home, my phone buzzes with a text. It's from Rose telling me she's going over to Emmett's house.

Not wanting to text and drive, I quickly dial her number.

_"Hey,"_ she answers.

"Hey, I got your text. Are you coming home or can I double lock?" Even though we live in a seemingly decent neighborhood and apartment, we have a bolt lock on the door that doesn't have an actual key. Two women living alone—you could never be too sure.

_"Umm . . . you can lock. If anything, I'll call you to let me in."_

"Is there any reason you _wouldn't_ be staying the night at this point? It's almost four in the morning."

She snorts. _"Well . . . he said we 'needed to talk'. So . . ."_

"Ouch. Okay. So, yeah I'll lock up but keep my phone on me."

_"Alright, love you."_

"Love you too." As soon as I hang up, I make sure to put my ringer on 'loud' so I don't forget, but I'm hoping it's an unnecessary precaution. I'm yet to meet Emmett McCullen, but I can tell he makes Rose happy. I'm praying his needing to talk isn't the 'break up' talk.

When I get home, I find I have an unexpected amount of energy. I don't drink alcohol while I work but I make sure to suck down an ample amount of energy drinks during the hours I'm there. Tonight I started at eight. That's a lot of caffeine.

I straighten up the place a little, take a quick shower, then settle in bed with some vodka and cranberry with Sprite—that's my main drink. Realizing I've been a bit of a hermit over the past couple of weeks, I power up my laptop and check my emails.

Nothing of importance.

Spam. An email from my mom—which I can tell is a chain mail forward and an email from an ex co-worker.

Ironically enough, it's also another chain mail forward—makes sense seeing as how I hadn't talked to him in ages—but it's in the form of an erotic poem. In which instead of 'dying within five days' or 'the love of your life calling you within five minutes', you're condemned to months of a bad sex life if you don't share the wealth.

I snort. 'I'm handling that well on my own', I think to myself. There's a link at the bottom and trusting it's not a virus, I click on it. I should have known, with the email it was attached to, where it would lead: a porn site.

Now, I do watch porn, make no mistake, but it's hard for me to actually find ones that turn me on instead of making me laugh. The stilted dialogue, the 'acting', the unrealistic scenarios. It's all pretty damn ridiculous—and this one is no different. It's actually probably the worst I've ever seen. The guy is supposed to be a demon or something like that and the girl an 'angel' sent to Hell. I'm getting ready to click out of it but then I notice something and click pause.

The eyes.

I can tell they're contacts—they are nowhere near the right shade of Edward's honey-gold-cinnamon combination but . . . shit. I stare at the screen, downing the rest of my drink.

It's a POV type. The guy's head is between the chick's legs and all I see are his eyes and his tongue moving. _Fuck!_ I pause, I skim back, and I play the same part of the clip over and over.

By the fifth time, my own hand has trailed itself down and between my legs. I close my eyes, imagining how Edward would feel nestled between my thighs. Then open them, setting the laptop in front of me—changing the fantasy to how it would feel to have him work me over with his tongue.

As far as fantasies go—that's my simplest one. I've yet to have a really good experience in that aspect.

I lock contact with the eyes on the screen, moving the fabric of my panties aside with one finger, bringing the other one to move over my clit in the same rhythm as the guy on the screen seems to be.

Letting my knees fall open, I roll the garment down and spread my feet wide. Air hits my center and makes my body quiver a little. Edward's name falls from my lips.

I slide my pointer finger over my clit.

Up and down. Up and down. Before sliding it inside myself. It's not enough.

I scoot down on the bed, bringing my middle finger to my entrance. I moan. Fuck that feels so much better. It's been a while.

In and out. In and out. I pump my fingers, then bring my other hand to rub against my clit. My shoulders twitch. Reaching over with my toe, I increase the volume of the clip. My moans escalating along with the girl on the screen.

_"Your tongue feels so good on my clit. Fuck me with your tongue."_

I'm not much of a talker so even with my mind foggy with pleasure, I find the strength to roll my eyes at her forced dialogue.

But I continue my movements. The up and down. In and out.

My breathing picks up, my eyes involuntarily flutter closed.

My chest heaves.

"Edward." His name falls from my lips again as my right leg twitches, followed by my left. I quickly remove my hands, squeezing my legs together trying to satiate the ache. It's not as good as having someone with me—not as good as I imagine Edward might be in bed. I mean with his cockiness, he better be able to work it, you know.

Once I catch my breath, I let out a sigh and think about the past month of my life.

Though I've had a few mishaps here and there—my car breaking down; my phone getting flushed; a small kitchen flood courtesy of the broken dishwasher; and an unfortunate incident when I attacked my old stereo with my heels after it ate an old CD, and those three days last week I had a minor case of food poisoning—I must say my luck has been a little better this past month.

I got a good job. I live with my best friend. I made friends at work—I think. And I even acquired myself a secret admirer. Now, it's a matter of getting him to own up to that. And also maybe making my little self-love an act fit for two.

* * *

**Patience, Bella! LOL**

**This weeks tidbit: TOTALLY did the dressing differently (see: less) thing! And got the stereotypical don't let he/she/they/it and all change you and yada yada!**

**And yeah most guessed who 'Blue Eyes' is! :-D and are guessing who Edward is in the grand scheme of things … guess we'll find out soon, huh? :-p**

**Sooo whatcha think?**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Until Next time**

**~Lo**

* * *

**This weeks tidbit: TOTALLY did the dressing differently (see: less) thing! And got the stereotypical don't let he/she/they/it and all change you and yada yada!**

**And yeah most guessed who 'Blue Eyes' is! :-D and are guessing who Edward is in the grand scheme of things … guess we'll find out soon, huh? :-p**

**Sooo whatcha think?**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Until Next time**

**~Lo**


	5. Chapter 5

**Some still having questions about my posting/re-posting, TWCS name etc. It can all be found on my FFn profile :-)**

* * *

_You never know what worse luck your bad luck had saved you from_

—Cormac McCarthy

**=5=**

"Bella!"

"Yo!"

"Waitress lady!"

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" That's me, yelling.

"Bella!" That's Leah calling me, again.

I snap. "What?"

"Don't get pissy with me! I feel your pain. I'm drowning back here. I need your help!"

"Behind the bar?" I panic. I've only helped behind the bar once since I started working and that was on a really slow random day. Not the madness that is a Saturday night. "Where's Sam?"

"There's a party going on upstairs!"

My forehead creases. "Who's having a party ups—"

"I don't know." She interrupts me then snaps at the new girl behind the bar. "Just because we free pour doesn't mean you dump all the alcohol in the cup!" Then she pops the top of four beer bottles in a row in one quick fluid motion. Only for the girl to bump into her and knock one over, causing it to break and the liquid to fly all over Leah. "Shit!" I snort. Her help might suck but at least she's not alone. "Bella," Leah starts whining again, but I shake my head.

"At least you have someone. I'm all alone. Where the fuck is Maggie?"

"She's upstairs too."

What the fuck!

"What's in a Cube Libre?" The new girl—I have no idea what her name is—shouts over to us, as Leah makes the drinks I asked for. Leah's neck almost snaps at the force in which she whips around to face her.

"I already fucking told you—"

I rest my hand on Leah's shoulder to calm her down. Then turning to the new girl, I tell her gently but firmly, "It's just a rum and Coke with a lime."

She nods. "Okay, which rum?"

"Did you _ask_ them which rum they want?"

"Oh . . ." the light bulb goes off before she turns back to the guy in front of her staring on as if she's an idiot.

"Bella," Leah starts, but this time I nod.

"Yeah, let me just get these to them—" I gesture toward the tray "—and then I'll help . . . with what, I don't know." I may have picked up a few things since working here but I sure as hell am not a bartender.

She smiles in appreciation, handing me my drinks and telling me to hurry back before she kills the girl. I rush off to deliver the two beers and two shots to the pair of college boys who look completely out of their element. As well as a shot of brandy on the rocks to a guy who looks like he's doing a hard job of trying to fit in but sticks out like a sore thumb. He has on a t-shirt, jeans, and baseball cap—stringy blond hair sticking out from under it, you can tell he's uncomfortable in his own skin. Plus, the guys who come here on Saturday nights tend to dress up, so it's clear he's not much of a regular.

"Anything else I can get for you?" I ask him hesitantly. He shakes his head brusquely, not bothering to give me a second glance—focusing all his attention on the bar. I look over and try to understand why, but when I see the current girl dancing is off on a stage toward the side of the club and not the one dead in the middle of the bar, I fail to.

Rushing quickly over to Leah, I make an exaggerated effort to shiver. "What?"

"That guy was weird."

"What guy?"

I try and discretely look over in his direction, but he's already gone. "Weird—he's gone."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing really, just something about him seemed off."

I see her eyes shift a little nervously as well, but we don't say anything else as I get behind the bar to try and help tame the unruly crowd. With Leah being the only efficient one, the line doesn't move as quickly as it should. Thankfully when I get back there, the three of us work out like a well-oiled machine and soon everyone seems content. There are only a few people straggling back and forth versus a large lush of a crowd who were drinkless.

"Bella?"

I look over at Aro's soft voice. "What's up?"

"Can you take these upstairs?" He sets down a tray, two bottles, and a small bucket of ice on the bar.

"Uh . . ." I sure as hell do hesitate. "Do you know who's up there?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, the same people who always are."

My heart starts racing. That can really only mean one thing, at least to me—Edward's up there, and he asked for Maggie. Yup, definitely feeling the sting of that a little bit. "Well . . . Maggie's supposed to be taking care of up there, so they can wait 'til she gets it together." I realize I snap a little more forcefully than I should when he flinches. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay," he reassures me. "Seems like everyone's a little tense today." That doesn't make me feel better for snapping at him. "Anyway, Mags asked for this about thirty minutes ago. This and a few other things. It was too much for her to carry all at once and I'm worried she might have forgotten."

God, she's totally useless. I shake my head. I'm really starting to wonder why she hasn't gotten fired yet.

"Well . . . she sucks off the owner, so . . ." Aro's eyes widen and he slaps a hand over his mouth. I look over at him in shock at the tidbit as well as realizing my question was thought out loud. "I did not say that."

I mime zipping my lips—but holy shit that's some interesting information. I make my way from behind the bar and grab the tray, almost dropping it when I notice the bottle of Louis XIII as part of the two.

Cocksucker!

On shaky legs, I make my way upstairs. I see the same security guy who's always standing there and poor guy gets a nice glare thrown in his direction. He didn't do anything but I don't care. I'm already angry.

When I walk in—it's full party mode. Balloons, a banner, and it looks like there was even a cake. When I see the banner reads: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ED! I stare at it in contempt, wishing I had the power to shoot fire from my eyes.

I look around the room and over to Sam, who's standing behind the bar. "Bella." He smiles.

My pleasantries don't extend very far. "Where's Maggie?"

He rolls his eyes. "Who knows."

"Well . . ." I rest the tray near him. "Looks like you'll be the one taking care of this."

Just then, five random people walk up to him and ask for drinks. A couple beers and some mixed drinks with the alcohol stocked behind him. "Can you just bring the tray over there?" He points to the middle, where I see a couple guys sitting on the couch. A few girls—half-naked—dancing in front of them. My eyes lock on Edward's profile. He's sitting there, with his arms thrown over the back of the couch, a girl shaking her ass in front of him and one sitting at his side, but he's more engrossed in the conversation he's having with . . . I squint my eyes some more. Jesus—it's 'blue eyes'.

Great, so he's friends with my boss's boyfriend. I stare at them for a minute or so, taking in the view of attractiveness radiating off the older gentleman in his black slacks and light blue shirt. And the pure sexiness coming off Edward in his dark gray slacks and navy button down.

With as sweet a smile as I could muster, I walk over to them, focusing on averting my attention away from Edward. If I don't focus on the task at hand—I _will_ lick his jaw.

I say nothing to them as I set the tray on the table but the action must alert them to my presence.

"Hey, Beautiful."

"Bella, hey."

They say it at the same time, look at each other, then back at me. "Handsome." I nod at both of them, offering a tight smile. They can figure out amongst themselves who the greeting is for and who the tight smile is for. I look back down and concentrate on not dropping anything and settling the bottle of champagne in the bucket of ice. The sound of two snaps makes me look up. But when I see Edward flip his wrist a little and two girls—who I've never seen before— walk away, I realize the snap wasn't to get my attention but to dismiss the girls. My lips form into a line but I try to not let my semi-disgust show.

"How many glasses?" I ask, pointing to the bottle of champagne. I choose to ignore the existence of the Louis XIII. 'Blue eyes' looks around, as if to do a quick head count, but I feel Edward's gaze lingering on me. For a brief second I make eye contact with him, but I regret it seconds later and quickly look away when the half-naked girl sitting next to him taps him on the shoulder and he leans over letting her whisper something in his ear. "Glasses?" I ask again. If it was just Edward, I would have left a long time ago, but the boss's boyfriend? Yeah . . . he still gets good service.

"Uh . . ." he finally looks over at me. "Tell ya what, beautiful." I see Edward cut his eyes over at the nickname but he doesn't say anything. "Bring about seven—can't get much more outta the bottle anyway. We'll figure the rest out."

"Okay." I smile at him sweetly. "I'll let your waitress know."

He smiles back in thanks, but the crease in Edward's forehead shows me I totally showed my ass with that comment. I slowly make my way out of the room without a parting goodbye or an inquiry on whether or not they need anything else.

I'm not even halfway down the silent hallway before I hear his voice behind me. If possible—it's even lower than usual.

"You know . . ." He starts and I stop but don't turn around. "The nasty attitude doesn't suit you. Neither does the jealousy."

I turn to face him quickly. "Jealousy?"

He nods. "I saw the look you shot Shelly. Care to explain? You know … since it's _not_ jealousy."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Oh don't worry, sweetheart, I'm not." He lifts one side of his mouth in a slow smile. "You getting all bent outta shape is flattery enough."

"God, you're cocky." And freaking spot on, 'cause I have no shame—okay maybe a little shame—in admitting I'm a bit of a jealous freak. I've tried to work on it but it's not like they have 'Jealousy Anonymous.' "And for the record," I wave my hands in front of myself, "there was absolutely nothing for _me_ to be jealous of."

The other side of his mouth lifts up, causing his face to split into a wide smile. "Now who's cocky?"

I inhale through my nose, clearly not having a retort.

Edward: 1. Bella: 0.

"I have to get back to work," I say suddenly, realizing I have no idea how long I'd actually been gone.

He nods and I turn to walk away, but as soon as I'm at the bottom—getting ready to open the door that separates the stairs from the club—he calls out to me. "Oh and for the record . . ." I chuckle at him using my same words. "You're right. You got nothing to be jealous of."

I smile to myself and decide to stop acting crazy. I turn around again to face him. "Happy Birthday!"

His face shows confusion for a second before he shakes his head and chuckles. "Not my birthday."

"But the banner—"

"Said 'Ed', I know. And wouldn't ya know I happen to be named after my father—Edward Senior.

"Oh."

"And tonight," he continues cockily. "He wanted to celebrate his birthday here and _he _requested Maggie specifically."

"Oh," I say again, feeling utterly foolish for clearly over reacting.

My chagrin doesn't go unnoticed. The smugness, cockiness, and all-around arrogance is radiating off him. "It's funny what you can find out with just one question, isn't it?"

"I got it. Thanks."

"Do you?" his face is almost serious, eyes willing me to figure it out. I think I already have.

I nod and with a final reminder I have to get back to work, I wish him a good night.

"Don't drop anything else tonight!" he calls out after me.

With a giggle, I tell him I'll try my best.

**((Luck))**

I spend the rest of the night in a weird euphoric state. Even though Edward and I had a bit of a disagreement, you could say, there's no denying the sexual tension between us. And with his little comments, I know I'm one step closer in getting him to admit he's my 'secret admirer'. I get that I could probably just ask him, but in a way, waiting it out makes it more fun—exciting.

At the end of the night, I'm beat and ready to get the hell home. As I'm wiping down some of the tables in my section, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I carefully pull it out and see I have a text from Rose asking if she could get a ride home with me.

I realize I hadn't seen her all night and hadn't got a chance to talk to her earlier in the day because she had spent the night out. I quickly text her back.

**Sure. Somehow I'm the last to leave 2nite but I'll be out soon. ~B**

When I get to my car—about fifteen minutes later—with Paul trailing behind me, I find Rose sitting on the trunk.

"You're all set, right?"

"Yeah thanks," I tell him. "Goodnight!" Turning back to Rose, I greet her with a hug. "Hey you, I didn't see you tonight. Did you go on at all?"

"No." She shakes her head. "And it's a really long story why. I promise to tell you as soon as we get home."

I frown but nod, unlocking my door and reaching over to unlock hers once I'm settled into my seat. With a content sigh at getting to sit down, I turn the key in the ignition. I'm met with silence.

I furrow my brows and turn the key again. This time I hear a tick, tick, tick as if something is trying to turn over but nothing happens.

"No, no . . ." I begin to whine. "Come on, baby, come on," I chant, turning the key over and over and pumping the brake then gas pedal with my foot over and over. When still nothing happens, I sit unmoving and stare at the steering wheel. "This isn't happening."

I pull the knob to pop the hood and we both scramble out of the car. With our phones as flashlights, I check the only two things I know to do: that the engine has oil and the radiator has coolant. They do.

"Maybe the battery died," I hear Rose offer in suggestion, but I shake my head.

"It's a new battery. Plus, I didn't leave anything on for it to die. It was daytime when I got to work." I drop my head in my hands. "I just spent over a thousand dollars fixing up this piece of shit." I groan. What a waste.

"You have triple A . . . right?"

I dip my head—not having the strength to give a full nod. I got it after the car broke down on my first day to work. But . . . "It's late. Let's just try and call for a cab instead. I'll deal with getting the car tomorrow. "

Just then we hear a car pull up. "Bella, you okay?"

I cover half my face and slowly shake my head. Of course.

"Who's that?" Rosalie whispers.

"My admirer," I answer her wryly, then drop my hands and face him. "Edward, hey. I thought everyone was long gone."

"So did I. We were just wrapping things up when I saw your car was still here."

I'm way too tired to ask him what he was 'wrapping up' and how he knew my car. But I clearly have enough energy to be a nosey shit. "We?"

He rolls the windows of his car down, a very sleek black car, and I see he has a few passengers with him. I offer a small wave but don't bother trying to decipher faces. From where he's parked, almost on the street and the way my car is positioned, I would have to walk closer to see faces. I don't care that much.

Hopping out of the car, he pushes up the sleeves on his shirt and struts over to us.

"Well . . . damn."

I chuckle at Rosalie's reaction. "I know, right."

"What happened?" Edward asks.

I shrug and give him the quick summary. "Won't start."

"Yeah." He snickers. "I guess that part is obvious."

With an over exaggerated clearing of her throat, Rose brings our attention back to her.

"Oh, right. Edward, this is Rosalie, my best friend and roommate. Rose, this is Edward."

"Ow. No tag line for me?"

"He's at the club a lot and is very cocky," I tell Rose sincerely. They both laugh but Edward reaches his hand out for her to shake.

"The lovely Rosalie Hale I've heard so much about."

Both our mouths gape. "Umm ... what?"

He laughs. "My nephew's crazy about you."

"Holy shit! You're Emmett's uncle."

"That I am."

"Hellooooo." I wave both my hands in the air at them. Then flipping over my hands so my palms are up and facing the sky, I silently ask for an explanation.

I don't get one.

Using the same tactic as Rose and I, Edward pulls out his phone and shines the light inside the hood of the car, effectively bringing the focus back to our current dilemma.

I have to ask. "Do you actually know about cars?"

"I do." He bobs his head up and down. "But I can't see shit in this light. And it's getting late. So—" he drops the hood "—my car is full so I can't give you a ride." His frown is deep. "But if you want, I can call a ride for you—"

He's interrupted by the sound of _another_ call pulling up. I see his body tense and one of the guys in his car shift a little.

"Who's that?" I wonder casually, more about their reaction than anything else.

"I don't know," he grits through his teeth—taking a step in front of me and Rosalie.

We stay silent, waiting for about a moment before I recognize the car. Rolling my eyes, I step around him. "It's just Leah."

"Hey." She walks up, glaring at Edward. Then looks back at me and Rose. "Everything okay?"

I sigh, why do people keep asking the obvious? "Something's wrong with my car. What are you doing here?"

"Well . . . do you need a ride?"

"Yes please," I tell her quickly, because as much fun as it is to hang around in the parking lot of my job, in heels and after an almost eight hour shift—I'd really rather be at home. "So . . . uh, thanks." I look back at Edward, making sure to lock up my car and not leave anything tempting in it.

"A good way to thank me would be to let me take you to breakfast."

"Breakfast?"

"Yeah." He smiles, sliding his hands in his pockets and leaning against my car. "Breakfast is a good Sunday date. And I happen to know you do not work on Sundays. So this serves as an all day invitation."

"For starters, you didn't actually _do_ anything for the thank you. I was just being nice," I tease. "And more importantly . . . knowing my car, my schedule, and conveniently, my roommate—" I wave my hand in the general direction of Rose "—that quantifies as a stalker in about fifty states and several countries, I'm sure."

He chuckles but doesn't respond to my teasing. "Have a good night, Bella. I'll see you for breakfast."

"I didn't say yes."

"Are you saying no?"

Giggling like a school girl, I walk off without answering. As soon as we're in Leah's car, she turns in her seat. "Who was that guy? Was he bothering you?"

I look back and watch as Edward climbs into his car. "Nope. Not at all."

* * *

**Thanks again for reading.**

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**


	6. Chapter 6

_A person is unlucky who falls on his back and breaks his nose  
—French Proverb_

**=6=**

"Thanks, Leah!" I wave and shout from the balcony of our apartment to let her know we got inside okay. When I shut the sliding glass door and look over into the living room, Rosalie is sitting with her eyes closed and head thrown back. "Tired?" I ask her, but she shakes her head no.

"Thinking."

I walk over and sit next to her, resting my head on her shoulder. "So how'd the talk go last night? You didn't come home so . . ."

She chuckles, but it comes out a little bitter sounding. "It was great," she answers dryly.

I snort. "That was totally believable by the way."

"It's the truth actually. When I got there, I was tired as hell. He ran me a bath, gave me a massage, cooked for me. He even asked me to go on some extended vacation with him next week."

My head pops up. "What?"

"Yeah." She nods with another bitter chuckle. "He has something to take care of in Europe apparently and wants me to go with him."

"Like a business meeting? In Europe?"

"I guess." She shrugs. "But after that, he wants to take me on some like 'see one hundred countries in two days' thing."

"A hundred countries in two days?" I deadpan. "I'm pretty sure that's impossible."

"Obviously, I'm exaggerating."

"Obviously." I give her a small smile, but tone down the teasing because I know there's more. With Rose there always is. "So he asked you on a trip . . . but?"

"It was perfect," she whispers. "He was so sweet last night. And today, he barely let me out of bed, just wanting to hold me and spend time with me. He even told me he was falling in love with me."

"That's sweet, Rose."

"Then tonight . . ." Her face turns hard. "As I'm getting dressed, Esme calls me into her office. Says I'm not going on. Emmett said so."

"Say what now?"

"He walked in a minute later and I went the fuck off on him. The fucking nerve."

"Alright." I put my hands on her shoulders. "You're gonna have to start at the beginning or close to it. 'Cause what does Emmett not wanting you to dance have anything to do with Miss Esme?" That shit just doesn't make sense to me.

"Well, she's his dad's girlfriend and his family owns the club. So . . . she'd be stupid not to listen to what he says."

My forehead creases in confusion. "His dad? Isn't she dating 'Blue Eyes'?"

"Carlisle? Is that what you call him? Huh . . . he does have those baby blue eyes, I guess it makes sense."

"Okay," I start speaking slowly, putting some puzzle pieces together. "So, Miss Esme's boyfriend, _Carlisle_—" I grimace a little when I say his name. It sounds so foreign to my ears. "—is your boyfriend, Emmett's, father?" She nods. "How old is Emmett?"

"A year older than us."

"So he's twenty-four?" I confirm. She nods again. "How old is Carlisle then?"

"Umm . . . In his forties, I guess? He had Jasper and Emmett in his earlier twenties. So . . ."

"Wait! Who's Jasper?"

"Emmett's little brother."

_Jasper? _"Where have I heard his name before?"

She shrugs. "How would I know?"

"I wasn't asking you for real." I wave my hands in front of my face at her, repeating his name over and over."Jasper, Jasper, Jasper." Then it hits me. _Edward, stop it. Or I'm telling Jasper. Better yet, I'll tell Esme you're harassing her girls._ I snap my fingers. Aha! "Alice!"

"Huh?"

"The night I met Edward, Alice, Twiddler, she told him she was gonna tell Jasper on him. That's where I heard it from."

"Ohhhhh . . . yeah, I forgot about that. Her and Jasper have history."

"So wait." Another piece of the puzzle forms. "So you said earlier, that Edward was Emmett's uncle."

"Yup."

"Which makes he and Carlisle brothers—meaning Edward's family owns the club?"

"Jesus Christ, what is this?"

Ignoring her impatience, I continue. "How old is Edward?" That's been nagging at me since the day I met him. I know he's older, just not by how much.

"Umm." I could see her biting the inside of her cheek in concentration. "I think he's like ten years older than Emmett or something like that."

Okay, so he's in his thirties. I can dig it, but back to the matter at hand. "Ah yes . . . Emmett, who for whatever reason put the kibosh on you working tonight."

"Oh, no, he had his reasons. Apparently, someone in his family was celebrating some shit and he didn't want his dad, uncles, and brother seeing me shaking my tits for a whole bunch of men."

Holy shit! "Ouch!"

"Yeah." Her eyes start filling with tears and my heart breaks a little for her. "I just feel like—what perfect timing you know. He asks me to his house, treats me like a fucking princess, tells me he loves me and all of this the day before he knew he was going to ask me, again, not to dance."

"So he asked you not to go on _tonight_? Or to not go on anymore . . . like in ever?"

"No . . . just tonight, but we both know what he's working up to. What a manipulative ass! I was completely falling for his game, too. He loves me? Fuck off!" Now she's ranting. "He's just another controlling asshole—trying to toss his money and clout around to get me to bend to his will. That's probably what this whole trip is gonna be about. Him showing me he could take care of me and I don't need to dance. What the fuck ever. I should have known he was too good to be true."

I cringe and grimace. Rosalie and I see things in completely different ways. Which makes sense, because we come from two different worlds, even though it didn't start off that way.

Growing up, we both knew what it was like to struggle. We were the two smart girls who went to prep school but had to fight our way to prove ourselves. We didn't really fit in with most of the kids because our family never dedicated vast amounts of money or had a wing or library named in their honor.

But when her mom, Tanya, married Garrett Denali, one of the single fathers to one of our classmates—who also happened to come from a line of oil tycoons—Rose shot straight up the social ladder. And she hated it.

With 'social class' comes expectations and that's how Royce came into her life. He _was_ the controlling dickhead who expected girls to bend to his will because he had money.

And her mother, determined not to struggle any longer and get the best for her daughter, put up—and still puts up—with far more shit from Garrett than any woman ever should. Rose despises her for this and it goes without saying she and Tanya Hale-Denali are estranged.

So, now, the minute a man comes into Rose's life, with an ounce of money, she thinks he's going to try and control and degrade her. Her main purpose in life—to be nothing like her mother—doesn't always allow her to see the other side of things. It's the independent to a fault mentality. And in her mind, allowing a man to help her in any way strips her of her free will. I don't think she realizes she can have both.

"Can I play devil's advocate here?" I question slowly.

Rose nods. "Go ahead."

"Okay." I take in a deep breath. "Why does he have to be a manipulative asshole and a fucker and all that just because he doesn't want you to dance? Rosalie," I say her name sternly. "Be real—_you_ don't even wanna dance. I'm sorry, but no one does. Every single girl you know in that club has a story and dancing, to them, is just a means to an end. This could very well be your end and you're just spitting in its face because it's what, not on the terms you want?" She opens her mouth to speak but I stop her. "I'm not finished. Now, what Emmett said was absolutely shitty. I'm not gonna take that away from you. But in his defense, he wasn't lying. His dad, his uncle, and his grandfather were there tonight. I don't know about his brother 'cause I don't know what he looks like. But that part wasn't a lie."

"Oh, I know." She snorts. "It was so important for him to make sure I don't go on and not embarrass him in front of his family. Hilarious, 'cause it sure as hell wasn't as important for him to actually introduce me to them."

I frown, not knowing what to say. That would probably bother me more than anything else.

"He's ashamed of me and what I do," she seethes. "He made that obvious tonight. But he met me like this. His embarrassment is his problem—not mine."

I nod because she has a point in a way, but I'm still trying to decipher what she's mad at the most.

"So are you upset because you think he's embarrassed by you, or because you think he's trying to control you?"

She shakes her head. "I'm upset that he's trying to control me _because_ he's ashamed by me. It's both."

"And he's _told_ you he's embarrassed and ashamed?"

"He doesn't have to."

"Uh, yeah, sweetie he does," I argue gently. "Seems to me you're assuming you know his intentions. Have you _asked_ him what they are?"

Being the ever stubborn person she is, Rose continues with her protest about how she shouldn't have to 'do this', or 'ask that' and that I have no idea what's it's like and . . .

"I'm not trying to argue with you, Rosalie," I finally stop her. "It's your relationship not mine. But if it was me, and the man of my dreams was offering me a better life on a silver platter—I might question it, sure. But I don't think I'd disregard it and be so ungrateful about it like you're being right now."

She sneers at me, "Ungrateful?"

I shrug, unfazed. "When he was cooking you dinner and rubbing your feet and all that—did you take a moment to enjoy it? Say thank you? Or were you too busy scrutinizing his motives?"

"I . . ." her shoulders slump in defeat. "I'm not even sure. Damn." She scrubs her hands over her tired face. "What the hell do I do? What would you do?" she pouts, laying her head on my lap.

Running my fingers through her hair, I tell her softly, "I already told you what I would do. I would question it but only to an extent. There _are_ good people in the world, Rose. Not everyone's out to get you. Did I ask you what your intentions were when you offered me a place to stay?"

"You didn't have to." I hear the smile in her voice. "It was obvious I only asked 'cause I needed help with rent money."

I laugh. "We both know that's not true. You refused money from me for the first month I was here." I make her sit up to look at me. And staring into her eyes, I try and make sure she sees, as well as hears, the depth of what I'm saying."You're a good person and you deserve a good guy. Emmett may very well screw you over, but he might not. Think about it this way—you said his family owns the club, yes?"

"Yeah." She nods, but her face shows me she's not seeing the point I'm about to make.

"If he was really trying to control you, he would have found a reason for Esme to fire your ass by now, then swoop in and save the day. He's _asking_ you to stop, not telling. And really—" I give her my most challenging look "—how much more pissed and mortified would you have been if you found out later, that you danced for half his family? You really would've been questioning how he felt about you then. Hell, I would even question it."

If he didn't say anything, didn't protest in the least, she would have flipped it around that he doesn't see her as anything of importance. She'd probably say he has no intention of being serious with her if he's okay with her family seeing her like that. She's a walking contradiction in that way.

Our conversation pretty much wraps up at that point—after she surprisingly agrees with my point—and I go to bed wondering if I'm completely full of shit in everything I told Rose. Truth is, I don't know what I would do in her situation, and I don't know that I wouldn't be feeling the same way she is. I have no personal experience to draw on, but I do know what my friend needed to hear.

What feels like hours later, she's shaking me awake at an ungodly hour in the morning. I don't open my eyes long enough to actually _look_ at the time, but the point is, she wakes me up. I'm not a morning person.

"I'm going to Emmett's," she whispers, while shaking my shoulders. "Just wanted to let you know I'm not home."

And she couldn't text this?

Grunting out a non-committal sound, I bring the covers over my head. I hear the snicker and her telling me she'll call me later but I don't bother answering.

I feel like I'm just getting back in that comfortable groove of my bed when Rose knocks on the door.

"Oh, come on," I groan and whine—stomping to the door and flinging it open. I squeak out in surprise when I see it's not Rose. It's some delivery-type boy who has a box with Styrofoam food containers in his hands. "Can I help you?" I ask him, pulling the door closed a little.

"Are you Bella?"

I'm obviously hesitant to answer. "Do I know you?"

"Oh." He smiles wide, his young face lighting up. He looks to be about fourteen at the most. "My name's Colin and I was paid to get these to you." He thrust the box in my hands. "Bon appétit."

He runs off before I can thank him.

I close the door behind me, resting the box on the kitchen counter. There are a couple brown paper bags in it and when I pull them open, I double over laughing. There's 'to go boxes' of pancakes, eggs, French toast, bagels, English muffins with jam; the works. All breakfast foods and— of course— a note.

_*So What About That Breakfast?*_

Not even a minute later, there's a knock on the door, and I smile, having a pretty good idea who it is. Just to be sure, though, I ask through the door, "Who is it?"

He answers with a cocky, "Who else would it be?"

With an eye roll and giggle I say, "Give me a minute." Then I make a mad dash to my bathroom to splash some water on my face, gargle some mouthwash, and fix my hair in a low ponytail. I also change out of my loose t-shirt and large boxer-type shorts to a tight-fitted tank top and yoga pants. It's cute enough to show my body, but chill enough to appear as though I actually slept in this.

When I open the door, Edward's leaning on the wall across from my apartment, next to my neighbor's door—one hand in his pants pocket, the other playing with a cell phone.

He looks damn good in a pair of black pants, grey shirt, and tie with some swirly design on it. But I can't tell his cocky ass that.

"I know you didn't get all dolled-up for me."

His head pops up with a smile. "And if I did?"

"You didn't."

"Okay." He lolls his neck from side to side playfully. "I might have gone to church this morning. A friend of mine's son got baptized."

"Ah, okay. Did you pray for forgiveness for all your sins?"

"No." He winks. "That would take all day."

"I bet." I bite down on my bottom lip to try and control the smile forming. "So . . ." I start. "You're a church boy, a club owner, and a stalker. Anything else I should know about you?"

His face shows that prideful shock emotion he seems to master so well. "Someone's been checking up on me, I see?"

"No even a little bit." I cross my arms, leaning against the door frame. "The information fell on my lap."

"Did it now?" He crosses his arms, mimicking me. "And this information—what were you talking about when it just, ya know, fell on your lap?"

Him and his family.

Damn.

"Okay, _maybe_ I'm a little intrigued about you," I admit, trying my best to remain calm, cool, collected and confident; even though my heart's about to beat out of my chest.

"Anything you'd like to know about me—" he licks his lips "—I'd be more than willing to answer for you. Say . . . over breakfast."

My mouth threatens to fall open at the sight of his tongue peeking out of his mouth, but I refuse to show it. Clearing my throat, I take the moment to gather myself and breathe through my nose to slow down my rapid beating heart. At the mention of breakfast, I know he's attempting to invite himself in, or expecting me to . . . but it's not going to happen. In his own way, I'm sure he thinks he's being sweet—and he is—but randomly showing up at my house is still a little weird for him to do. Persistent, sexy, and flattering but still weird, not to mention pushy.

"I'd love to go out for breakfast with you," I speak softly, somewhat seductively. At least I think I'm being seductive. "But—" I pout "—someone already brought me breakfast and . . ." I shake my head. "It would be really rude of me to disregard the food."

He nods in appreciation, his mouth lifting up in an awkward but sexy smile. "Okay. Well . . . did this breakfast you mentioned, contain coffee?"

I chuckle and shake my head. "It did not contain coffee, actually."

"Shame." He pouts. "Travesty, really and I think you should let me rectify that."

"You are one persistent bastard, you know that?" I laugh. "Some might even call you annoying . . . or presumptuous."

"And some consider persistence a good trait to have."

I let my lips curve into a smile, despite the urge to roll my eyes. Alice sure did warn me about him.

Putting on a serious face, Edward finally pushes himself off the wall, and grabs a hold of my hand. "Bella," he says seriously. "I may be a lot of things, but I assure you, presumptuous ain't one of them. So I'm asking you, sincerely, to allow me to take you out. It doesn't get more innocent than coffee," he adds with a teasing smile. "I'll behave, I promise."

"Even with coffee . . . you and 'innocent' belong no where near the same sentence." I pretend to think about it, but really there's no need. "Fine," I sigh. "I suppose I can use a cup of coffee."

His face morphs with a genuinely surprised smile—almost as if he actually thought I might say no. It makes him a little endearing, the last word I would ever have thought I would use for him.

"Just give me like . . . ten minutes?" I ask him.

"Take your time." He smiles, squeezing my hand a little bit before dropping it. "Trust me—I'm sure you're worth the wait." Then he gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before walking off and telling me he'll wait for me in the car.

Ugh . . . smooth motherfucker, I tell you. This bastard's gonna be the death of me.


	7. Chapter 7

_Diligence is the mother of good luck.  
-Benjamin Franklin  
_**=7=**

I change several times before I decide on a plain, dark blue maxi-dress and silverish flip-flops with a sling back. Then I throw on some shiny lip gloss and put my hair up in a tight bun.

I give myself a once over in the mirror and shrug. That's as good as it's gonna get as far as 'Sunday's Best' goes.

When I walk down the concrete stairs, I look around the parking lot for the sleek black car I saw Edward in the night before—I don't see it.

I squint against the sun, shielding my eyes and look around for a few seconds before I see the driver's side door of a dark silver car opening. The first thing I see is Edward's smile.

Looking closer at the car, I see it's nice, but . . . "Is that a Volvo?" I laugh. "Never pegged you as a Volvo man."

He snorts. "I'm not—trust me. My car was giving me shit this morning, so after dropping it off at the shop, I borrowed this from Jasper."

"Ah . . . your nephew."

He grins and nods slowly. "I'm gonna have to pick your brain, Miss Swan. Seems like you know a few things about me."

"Maybe," I boast smugly, walking around to the passenger side of his car.

"Oh, lemme get that for you." He rushes over to the door to open it for me. I don't do a good job at hiding my shock. "What?"

"Nothing." I chuckle and shake my head, lowering myself into the car, adding 'chivalrous' to the list of things I never thought I'd say about him.

He softly closes my door, causing it to lock automatically for some reason. So when he runs around to the other side, on instinct I lean over and open his door for him.

This time he's the one who doesn't do a good job of hiding his shock.

"What?"

He shakes his head and licks his lips. "Nothing, sweetheart."

I roll my eyes at him but look out the window and let my face split into a smile.

The ride is quiet for a good moment before I realize we've been driving for a while and we've passed several Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts, and diners.

"Umm . . . aren't we going for coffee?"

"Yeah, why?"

"'Cause we keep passing a whole bunch of places I'm pretty sure have coffee."

"Naw, you want coffee—and I mean a _good_ cup of coffee, you go to the place I'm taking you, nowhere else." He's pretty serious when he says this, and I really—I mean really wanna tease him about his clear and deep love for coffee, but I let it go.

About five minutes later, we pull up to what looks like a little 'mom and pop' type restaurant covered with a beautiful mural. A few people are sitting outside—in the sweltering sun—and I could hear some music coming from the inside. It sounds like Spanish music but I can't be too sure.

"Where are we?" I ask, when Edward steps around to open the door for me. I must be loud because one of the guys answers me before he can.

"Little Habana, Mami."

I look up at the guy who spoke and my eyes widen a little before I compose myself. Even from a foot away, I can tell he's gorgeous, but when we walk closer to him, it's even more obvious. He has crystal blue eyes, caramel skin, he's tall and muscular and … fuck, it's been too long. When he winks at me, I immediately drop my gaze.

Clearing his throat, Edward grabs a hold of my hand before turning his attention to the guy. "Carlos," he snaps, but I can hear it's playful, kind of. "Stop that."

"Sorry." He chuckles. From the corner of my eye—I'm still kinda looking down—I see them shake hands before Edward squeezes mine a little.

"This is my girl, Bella."

I look up quickly with shocked eyes before they narrow on their own accord.

"Baby, this is my . . . cousin, I guess you can say, Carlos."

"Nice to meet you." I wave shyly.

"You, too." He winks at me cockily, reaching out for my hand. I admittedly, give an internal eye roll—they're definitely related, but give my hand to him anyway. When he starts to lift it to his lips, Edward makes another sound from his throat, causing him to drop it. Dammit.

"My mom's in there." Carlos nods his head to the restaurant. Then he gives Edward a pointed look. "Jake talked to you?"

"It's taken care of," Edward speaks low, piercing him with a glare. "Don't fuck up again." Then he looks back at me with a wide smile. "Ready for the best coffee you've ever had?"

"Umm," I look between the two of them before I answer, "Sure."

Edward practically drags me inside, giving me no chance to tell Carlos goodbye. When we walk in, several people around the restaurant greet him and he responds with smiles, waves and a few head nods. We sit at a table in the corner, Edward taking the seat where he has his back facing the wall and I'm facing him.

When he looks at me I put on an unimpressed face. "Your girl?"

"What?"

"You don't have to piss on me, Edward."

"I wasn't—"

"Yes, you were." I cross my arms and look away. I haven't decided if I'm mad yet, but until I do, he needs to know not to pull that shit with me.

"Are you mad?" I look back at him and see his forehead creased in confusion. "'Cause if you are, I'm sorry."

"So you're only sorry _if_ I'm mad?"

"If I offended you—I'm sorry. Carlos is a dawg, I just didn't want him coming at you."

My entire face lights up in amusement. "He's a what?"

"He's a dog."

"No, no—" I shake my head "—say it just like you did a second ago."

"I did. I said Carlos is a dog."

"No," I smile, "say it like before. He's a daawwggg," I drag out the words and giggle, making weird gestures with my hands.

Edward's eyes flutter closed as he shakes his head slowly, fighting a smile. "First off, I don't sound like that. And second, never do that again."

I laugh, strangely enjoying the fact I've embarrassed him a little.

"So where are you from?" I ask, tapping my fingers on the table.

"I'm from here." He answers, throwing his hands up a little as if calling someone over. I crane my neck around to see a short, older woman walking over with a wide smile on her face.

"Edward," she greets him—but it comes out with a thick accent, almost like she's shortening Eduardo.

"Titi Maria." Edward stands up to greet her. Not knowing what else to do, I stand up as well. He bends down to give her a kiss on the cheek and I smile at her. "This is Bella."

"Hi."

"Bella," she smiles—giving me a subtle once over before leaning in for a kiss on the cheek as well.

They exchange a few words in Spanish before she looks at me again and saunters off.

I look over at Edward with pursed lips.

"You better not have been talking about me."

"Don't worry, I wasn't." He shakes his head. "Well, not really. She did ask me where I found you. She says you're way too pretty to be hanging out with the likes of me."

I love this lady already. "So that's your aunt? Meaning Carlos' mom?"

"Yeah." He nods. "Well, they're Carlisle's family really, he's half Cuban, I'm not—but . . ." he trails off and shrugs his shoulders.

"Blood doesn't always determine family."

Seemingly pleased with my answer, he grins and leans back in his chair.

"So . . ."

"So . . ."

"Where you from?" he asks.

"I'm surprised you don't know."

"I didn't say I didn't know."

"Then why are you asking?"

He shrugs as Maria comes back and sets two large cups of coffee in front of us, some cream and a bowl of sugar. I grab the spoon sitting on the saucer and scoop some coffee on it, blowing a little before bringing it to my lips.

"Holy . . ." that's some strong shit. I dump a large spoonful of sugar, followed by a good amount of milk in the cup before stirring. When I bring the cup back to my mouth, and take a sip, I moan. That's some good shit.

"I take it the moaning means you like it?" My head snaps up. I almost forgot Edward was here.

Trying to quell my embarrassment—I look into his eyes and do it again. Blow into the mug, take a sip, then moan. He chuckles and shakes his head.

"So, you're from Georgia?"

Alright, that's enough. "How do you know these things?" I ask irritated, not sure how to feel that he knows yet another tidbit about me. "All jokes aside now," I say sternly. "My car, my house, where I'm from—how is it you know this?"

"I asked about you," he answers softly, sincerity lacing his voice. "Your first night, I caught you at the end of the night and when I went to talk to you after closing you were already getting in your car. That's how I know that."

"Oh."

"Your address, I got it from your file," he admits, voice still low.

"There's got to be an HR law against that," I try and tease but the corner of his lip only twitches momentarily.

"And as far as where you're from. I actually didn't know that. Emmett said Rosalie is from Georgia. He also mentioned you guys grew up together. So—" he shrugs "—I was just wondering if he got that part right."

"Listen," I huff a little, kinda upset at myself for feeling bad I snapped at him. "You're cocky," I remind him. "You say dumb shit, and I put you in your place. That's how we work." I furrow my brows and wave a hand in between us. "I don't know how to respond to the wounded little boy. So . . ." I purse my lips. "Stop doing that."

"Wounded little boy," he repeats flatly. "There's nothing _little_ about me, Bella."

"Oh, thank God." I throw my hands over my chest. "That's the arrogance I know. Phew," I blow out a breath, "That was weird for a second. Now . . . if you must know—yes, I grew up in Georgia. You said you grew up here?" I ask in an attempt to have a real conversation.

He does a shrug-nod combo. "Yes and no. I kinda bounced back and forth between here and New York 'til I was like ten or eleven."

"Oh, sorry—that must've sucked."

"Not really—" he smiles "—I had a pretty decent childhood."

And that's how Edward and I end up spending hours in his aunt's café' talking. He tells me how, even though she's actually Carlisle's aunt, Maria had a steady hand in helping raise Edward during the times he was in Florida.

His mom—a dancer from New York—had a brief fling with his dad—Ed Senior—while he was married to Carlisle's mother, Carmen. And though she ran for the hills when she found out, leaving Carlisle with Ed, her family never held their dad's doggish ways against Edward.

His mother—Lauren—died when she was twenty-seven and Edward was eight. That is when he moved to Florida permanently. He doesn't tell me how she died and I'm too sorrowful to ask, as it seems to make him frown just saying her name.

He also tells me a little bit about his nephews, Emmett and Jasper. Basically that Emmett's the oldest of the two at twenty-four and far more serious than Jasper, who's twenty-two. Also, his last name is Cullen not McCullen—the boys are McCarty-Cullen, though, so I reason that might be how I heard it wrong, that it all got jumbled together.

It's kind of hard to keep up with everyone's names, but I soak in everything he tells me. Especially when the subject of his ex-wife comes up.

"You have my full attention," I tell him, biting down on some fried goodness.

"I didn't have it before?"

I nod and chew quickly. "You did." I swallow. "But you have it even more now. So, you said ex—why'd you guys divorce?"

"She cheated." He shrugs.

"Oh. Is that why you're such a jerk?" I blurt out, then slap my hands over my mouth, mumbling out an apology through my fingers.

Edward, though, throws his head back and lets out a really loud guffaw.

When he doesn't stop laughing, I mutter out, "It wasn't that funny." This only makes him laugh harder. "Let me know when you're done."

"Sorry." He brings the side of his fist to his mouth, as if to choke the laughter. "Sorry . . . oh man, that was funny. So, you think I'm a jerk?"

"You can be."

He cocks his head to the side. "What have I done to be jerk to you?"

"You . . . umm . . . you're—fuck!" I struggle to find a specific time. "Well, you were kinda of dicky the first night I met you." That's pretty much all I come up with.

"How so?"

"In your private room, or whatever, when you got on me about your precious drink, and whatever trick/test that was to bring Alice up there—you weren't very likable."

"So you like me?"

"What? No!"

"You just said I wasn't likeable. Like past tense. Meaning I'm likeable now. So you like me?"

"Wow. Talk about a reach." I roll my eyes. Deny, deny, deny—that's my plan. "So, she cheated. I guess that answers the question on whether the divorce was amicable."

"Don't think I don't see you trying to change the subject," he accuses, playfully wagging his finger at me. "I'm not a jerk—I was just raised to always speak my mind. Also, you like me, no need to fight it. As for my divorce . . ." He bobbles his head from side to side with a contemplative look on his face. "I didn't kick her ass out the minute I found her in bed with my best friend, and she didn't kick me and my balls when me and my best friend's wife—her sister—felt the need to get our revenge. So, yeah . . . I'd say it was pretty amicable."

I scrunch up my nose. "We have to work on this saying whatever's on your mind thing. That was way more information than I needed to know."

"Sorry." He chuckles. "But to answer your other question, or what I think you were implying, I'm not bitter—not anymore. I mean, yeah I was at first, but Bianca and I split when I was twenty-four. It would be pretty fucking pathetic if I was holding on to that shit ten years later."

"Thirty-four."

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing." I shake my head, not realizing I spoke out loud. "I just didn't know exactly how old you were is all."

"Is the age difference an issue?" He frowns.

"An issue for what, exactly?" I taunt, bringing the straw from my glass of juice to my lips. "Technically, this is our first 'date' so . . . that's hardly deep enough to start worrying about potential issues." I wink at him.

"You enjoy being a smart ass, don't you?"

"Maybe," I sing. Inside, though, I'm giggling and doing a little dance. I was only kind of joking about it being a date, but I guess it is indeed.

We talk a little more, and I stuff my face unabashedly with the food my new Aunt Maria keeps putting in front of me. Yes, I adopted her.

It's a little while later when Edward reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

"Shit."

"What?"

"I didn't realize how much time went by. Jasper's gonna want his shit back. Ready?"

No. "Sure."

He seems to enjoy my disappointment. "He's going to meet me at the shop and take his car while I pick up mine. Which reminds me . . . I gotta tell you something, don't be mad."

This, obviously, makes my hackles rise. "What is it?"

"I'll tell you in the car."

Noticing we're getting ready to go—Aunt Maria walks over to tell us goodbye, getting in a heated discussion with Edward when he tries to pay. I snigger a little, and after giving her another kiss on her cheek, I make my own way outside to the car.

"Bye, sexy!" I look back at Carlos, just in time to watch Edward walk out and smack the back of his head and keep walking in a fluid motion.

Ever the gentleman, Edward opens my car door for me. The minute he sets his butt in the driver's seat, I turn to face him.

"What do you have to tell me?"

"Hold on a sec." He pulls out his phone, hooking it up to a plug and dialing before pulling onto the road. The sound of the phone dialing fills the car through the speakers.

"_Hello?"_

"Yo, Laurent, it's Edward."

"_Sup?"_

"The cars are good?"

"_Yeah, man. But . . . uh, your girl's car—the Taurus?"_ I crease my forehead a little. Are they talking about my car? Then I roll my eyes at myself, of course they are—he wouldn't have the gall, at least I don't think, to be talking about another chick's car right in front of me. Not to mention, I doubt Edward's hanging out with many people who drive Fords.

"What about it?"

"What's wrong with my car?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"_Am I on speaker?"_ The guy on the phone asks.

Edward nods, then realizing he can't see him, answers, "Yeah."

"_Take me off right quick."_

My eyebrows shoot up as Edward's entire face morphs into confusion. He does what this Laurent guys asks though, and unplugs the phone, pulling it up to his ear.

"Okay . . . yeah you are . . . what happened?" Whatever the response is has Edward sitting up a little in his seat that's leaned back, and his mouth forming into a tight line. "You're sure?"

"What's going on?" I try and whisper. "What did he say?"

"There's no other explanation?" Edward speaks into the phone, ignoring me. "Alright . . . damn . . . yeah, we'll be there soon." When he hangs up, he doesn't say anything and I notice the hands gripping the steering wheel have turned white.

"What's wrong with my car?"

He snaps his head to me as if he forgot I was there. "Huh? Oh." He brings his stare back to the road. "Nothing. Well, not nothing, just . . . one of your pipes burst. It's fixed now, though."

I glare at him accusingly. "You're lying."

"Why would I do that?"

"Good question. You tell me."

He shrugs, not offering anything else up.

"So what did you have to tell me?"

"That's it," he answers tightly. "That I had your car towed for you to Laurent's shop."

"Why would I be mad about that?" I'm confused. "I appreciate that actually, 'cause I had forgotten about it."

"Thought maybe you'd say I was overstepping a boundary or something. Like it wasn't my place."

"It wasn't your place," I agree. "But I still appreciate the gesture, really."

He hums out in response, and focuses his attention on his phone, leaving me confused as to why the sudden turn of events.

When we pull into the garage, about twenty minutes later, he quickly hurries out of the car, barely remembering to open my door. I don't _need _him to open it, but since he has all day, it's a little weird that he's so distracted all of the sudden.

Not knowing where to go, I perch myself on a chair inside the lobby area. I also stare at the office door, where Edward ran into, with contempt.

He comes out fifteen minutes later, followed by a big guy with dreads and . . . "Jacob? What are you doing here?"

He cuts his eyes quickly to Edward as if not knowing how to answer. "I called him," Edward responds for him. "I wasn't sure if my car was all set, so I hit him up to be ready in case I needed a ride."

"Is it?"

"Is what?"

"Your car, Edward," I reply, annoyed. "Is your car fixed? I could take you home, too."

"That's okay." He shakes his head, offering me a forced smile. "Jake got me, but lemme drive you home. In your car, I mean. To make sure you know how to get out of here."

Looking around at Edward, Jacob and even this Laurent guy—I have the sudden urge to get away from all of them as soon as possible. Something's up.

"I'll be fine," I argue gently. "I could probably just use the GPS app on my phone."

"Please," he says quickly. "It would make me feel better."

I look at him with confusion written all over my face at the anxiousness behind his voice.

"I mean . . . we had such a good day, right? What kind of guy would I be if I didn't make sure you got home okay?"

Before I can answer, we all look over at the sound of a car pulling up. Everyone—except me—stiffens a little, until a blond guy climbs out of the passenger side.

"That's Jasper," Edward tells me. "I'll be right back."

Having had enough of the weirdness, I address Laurent. "So, what's wrong with my car?"

"One of your pipes burst," he repeats what Edward told me earlier.

"Okay and how much was it to fix?"

"Edward took care of it," Jacob pipes in. Oh, now he knows how to speak.

"Whatever," I mumble in response to him. Returning my attention back to Laurent, I tell him, "Well, thank you. For whatever you did—I appreciate it. Can I take it home now?"

He looks over at Jacob, who nods, before handing me my keys.

"Thanks." I offer him as polite a smile as possible and leave them both standing there to get to my car. As I'm climbing in, I hear Edward calling out to me.

"Bella, wait up!"

I still get in and start the engine before he pulls my driver side door open.

"What are you doing?"

"Can I drive?"

"You wanna drive my car? Really?"

"I'm not good at directions—it'll be easier."

Not in the mood to argue, I climb over the seat and settle myself against the door.

We're both dead silent the entire way back to my apartment complex. I'm also pretty sure we take the long way there. When we pull into a parking spot, and Jacob pulls in right next to us, I look over at Edward.

"Would you like to tell me what's going on?"

"What do you mean?" he asks innocently.

"Why are you being weird?" I sigh, slumping my shoulders a little. "I had a good time, didn't you?"

"Oh, sweetheart." He reaches over and tugs on my hand. "Don't do that. You know I did. I just . . ."

"What?"

"I didn't want you to get mad about the car."

"Why would I get mad?"

"I towed your car, decided where it would get fixed, and then paid for it. Not every woman is cool with stuff like that."

"Oh," I breathe, relieved. "Is that the problem? Edward," I smile, "I'm so grateful for that, you have no idea. I have every intention of paying you back," I add, "But still I'm nothing but grateful. I swear."

"Good." He licks his lips and I do the same when I notice his eyes flicker from my mouth back to my eyes. I start leaning closer to him, but pull back when I think of something else.

"What about the insistence to drive my car?"

"Just wanted to make sure it drives okay is all."

"Okay," I answer, appeased. He closes the distance between us and presses soft kisses against my mouth. I'm a little surprised at how gentle he is.

"Lemme walk you to your door," he offers, but I decline.

"It's just right up the stairs. Don't worry, I won't think less of you for not walking me."

He laughs softly as we both climb out of my car.

"Would you let me take you out again?"

"I'm off tomorrow," I answer quickly. Then cringe inside—it's clear all my playing hard to get has gone to hell. "Call me."

"Believe it or not, I don't have your number."

"Well then." I grab the collar of his shirt, bringing my mouth right to his. "I guess you'll have to find it out."

He laughs. "I have my ways."

"I bet you do." I give him a chaste kiss. "Thanks for today, the car and all of it. I'll make it all up to you one day." I wink.

He smiles, and watches me as I make my way up the stairs before calling back out to me.

"Hey, Bella!"

"Yeah?" I stop on the third step, turning to look back at him.

"Be safe."

I'm almost shocked at the intensity of his stare, but I recover.

"No worries." I wave, walking the rest of the way to my apartment.

I'm all smiles when I get past the door. It only gets wider when I see Rose sitting on the couch.

"Hey, you," she greets me. "I called your phone, where'd you go?"

"I went for coffee with Edward."

"Must be some good coffee to have you smiling like that," she snickers, raising and lowering her eyebrows quickly.

"Sure was."

"And I hope to hear all about it later, but—" she flicks the TV off with the remote and stands up "—I gotta get ready to go to work."

"Work things out with your man?"

"Yup." She beams. "And we're good."

"Good for you." I give her a genuine smile and a hug.

"Oh, and those came for you." She points over my shoulder to the kitchen counter.

Next to the box of forgotten—and now wasted—breakfast food is a vase of red roses.

"Oh, my!" I exclaim, rushing over to smell them. I'm not the biggest fan of roses to be honest. I don't take care of them well and they kind of die in record time. But with a good idea of who they're from, they might as well be my new favorites.

"Where's the card?" I turn back to Rose.

She looks a little lost. "I don't know. If it's not there, then there isn't one."

That's weird. "Who'd the delivery guy say they were from?"

"I wasn't here. When I got home a little while ago, they were just sitting in front of the door."

Suddenly not finding them appealing, I take a step away from the counter.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know who these flowers are from, but if there wasn't a note—they weren't from Edward."


	8. Chapter 8

_I think we consider too much the good luck of the early bird  
and not enough the bad luck of the early worm._  
—Franklin D. Roosevelt

**=8=**

The end of the week finds me in an awkward position—literally.

I'm alone. In a spare room of Edward's condo, with my legs sprawled out and my hands resting between them. My breathing is heavy, and I'm praying to God he didn't just hear me screaming his name to the image of him jacking it in his room.

For any of this to make sense, I realize I have to describe the series of unfortunate events that lead to my current situation.

When I wake up Monday morning, I corner Rose with the fact the roses may very well be for her. After all, there are two women living here and it wouldn't be the first time someone thought it would be clever to give Rose, roses.

She swears up and down, though, that can't be the case and they just have to be for me. So I decide I'm overreacting and if they're from anyone, it _must_ be Edward. It doesn't make sense otherwise because it's not like I have a line of admirers waiting at my door to give me pretty plants.

Taking matters into my own hands, I have Rosalie get his number for me via Emmett. Then I text him with a quick 'Thank you' and let him know this is my number and he's free to use it, adding a flirty wink at the end of the message.

About ten minutes later, I get a phone call from him saying he was going to text me back but preferred to hear my voice instead. Resisting the urge to swoon, I ask him how his day is going, and after answering with a vague response about having meetings all morning, he asks if I'll _allow_ him to take me to lunch.

I smile because he has a way of making it sound like such an honor for him to take me out.

Quickly agreeing to what I consider date #2, I ask him where he'd like for us to go and what I should wear.

His response is, _"Anything. I mean it's warm out, of course, but you always look beautiful, so . . ."_

"You're good for a girl's ego." I smile. "I might keep you around."

I immediately take that comment back when he arrives to pick me up about an hour later and he's wearing a pair of dark wash jeans, a light grey button up and dress-y shoes.

I look down at my jean shorts, red baby tee and flip flops then scowl at him. "Don't you own a t-shirt and sneakers like normal guys?"

He squints one eye at me, looks over his shoulder, then back at me as if to make sure I'm talking to him. "Pardon?"

"Your outfit." I wave my hands at him then back at myself. "Where are we going that requires a nice shirt and real shoes?"

"Is that your way of telling me I look good today?"

"Edward."

"Okay." He chuckles. "I hate sneakers to be honest and only wear them when I'm working out. As for this—" he pinches the front of his shirt and pulls it away from his chest "—I have a t-shirt under here if you want me to take it off."

_Yes, strip!_ "No," I sigh. "It's not that serious." Really I just don't feel like changing. So I don't. "So where are we going?" I ask, slipping on my sunglasses as we make our way out the door and down the stairs. "Have an uncle who owns a frozen yogurt shop?"

He responds to my quip with a snort, then shakes his head and reaches down to thread our fingers together. I smile at the gesture but choose not to say anything about it—sarcastic or otherwise.

On our way to wherever he's taking me, we chat idly about the most mundane things known to man. It's oddly comforting, though, that it's clear we're both not one to try and come up with clever things to say and wax poetic about the few interesting scientific facts we might know.

But when the subject of my car comes up, the mood immediately shifts.

Edward tries his best to seem cavalier about it, as do I, but it's an unspoken bone of discomfort for us for some reason. The conversation starts when he asks me if I got to go out again after we hung out yesterday and whether the car is driving fine.

I tell him I actually didn't go out but that I let Rosalie take it to work 'cause she didn't have gas in her car.

"She didn't have any complaints this morning so . . ."

"Good." He nods. "If it ever gives you any problems you should take it to Laurent."

"What if I have my own mechanic?"

"Do you?" he challenges.

"No, but what if I did?"

He shrugs. "I would still suggest Laurent—as I'm doing now. Simply making a suggestion, nothing else."

"Well thanks," I tell him sincerely. "I'll keep him in mind. It's good to have options."

"Where have you taken it before?"

"Umm …" I bring my finger to my mouth and tap it a little while trying to remember. "It was really just a place I found online. Mick's I think. Mikey's maybe?"

"Mike's Auto Shop?"

"Yeah, that's the one." I snap my fingers and point at him. "Know it?"

He snorts. "I know enough to know you need to be careful taking your car there."

"What's that mean?"

"That means the owner's a shady asshole. Who'd you go with whenever you had to get it fixed?"

"Myself." I shrug. He shakes his head a little at my answer. "What?"

"Do you know much about cars?"

"What's that got anything to do with it?"

"Everything. There's always some bitch ass ready to take advantage of people who don't know shit about cars. Always have someone go with you."

"Here we go," I groan. As a woman, I've had this talk and heard this lecture more times than I care to count. "Lemme guess. This is when you tell me all about the scary world of cars and how I should have a man there to protect me from getting scammed into spending more and yada, yada. 'Cause of course women know nothing about cars."

He's still driving but I see his eyebrows knit together as he glances over at me for a little bit before training his focus back on the road. A few seconds later, we come to a stoplight and he looks back at me.

"Are you done?" His voice is short, a little cold.

I frown. "Done?"

"Yeah—done implying I'm sexist."

"I said you were a sexist?" I point a finger to my chest and stare at him with wide eyes.

"You didn't _say_ it. But you sure as hell implied it with that smart ass comment you just made."

The light turns green then and I just watch him silently as he creeps the car up a little, taking the next right and pulling into a parking garage. Noticing we're at Coco Walk—an outdoor mall— the inner part of me that clearly prefers humor over arguing wins out. "Feel like doing some shopping?" I tease.

"Not really," he answers flatly. "Emmett called me on the way to your place and asked me to pick up a few things for him for his trip. He's working and his dad's out of town, so he couldn't get to it today."

"That's sweet—your dynamic with him I mean."

When he doesn't reply and neither of us make a move to get out of the car, I sigh and decide to stare at the concrete wall we're parked in front of.

"Well, this is fun," I mutter, leaning back in my seat.

"Bella." I feel his finger at my chin, probing me to look at him. I do. "I just want to make something clear, okay?" I purse my lips but nod for him to go ahead with whatever he has to say. "Joking or not, the idea I'm in any way sexist or feel a woman is inferior to me doesn't sit well with me. Ever. My family owns several clubs and businesses, some of those being strip clubs. It's not a good look for anyone to think that about me. You say I'm a jerk," he smiles, "and you're not the only one. But I'm an equal opportunity asshole—the person's gender means nothing."

Realizing he's a little sensitive about this subject shows he's probably had to face the stigma and implication before. And with the role I'm hoping to eventually play in his life, the logical thing would be to comfort him, tell him I know he's not sexist and apologize for taking my own aggravation with the subject out on him. Maybe even coddle him a little. Things like that. So I reach over and cup his cheek.

"Edward," I say his name softly. Then disregarding everything I just told myself two seconds ago, I tell him, "If it's that big of a deal, I'll add 'not sexist' and 'equal opportunity jerk' to the list of things I have about you in my head."

I obviously feel a little guilty for hurting his feelings, but it's going to take a lot more than that to make me turn into a big pile of mush. On the outside that is, because on the inside, I just wanna give him a hug and apologize. I figure I'll save that for a bigger occasion of putting my foot in my mouth.

Dropping his head, I hear him sigh then grumble something about me being insane.

I giggle. "And see—now you have something else about me to add to your list!" Everyone has a list. He lets out a low chuckle and I smile widely knowing the storm seems to have passed. "Now are we ready?"

"Not yet." He brings his head back up and makes kissy noises while puckering his mouth.

I grin and lean over the center console to meet him halfway. Our lips touch and move against each other's in slow, soft pecks but when he pulls away just as I'm about to throw in some tongue action, I almost fling myself across the seat to bring his head back over to me.

We spend most of the day in Coconut Grove walking around the shops of Coco Walk and, ironically, making sure to stop at a yogurt shop.

"I've had better," Edward remarks, scooping a spoonful of his healthy vanilla yogurt with berries into his mouth.

I nod and hum around my chocolate yogurt with chocolate chunks. "Me too, but it's good though." He shrugs. "You're a food snob."

"Am not!" He looks down at the cup and grimaces. "Maybe it's the fruit I chose."

I roll my eyes. "Well, if it's that bad maybe your family should add frozen yogurt shop to the list of businesses you own."

"Not a bad idea," he beams—either not realizing I was teasing him or choosing not to care.

Despite being in sandals, after a few more hours, my feet and body decide it's had enough of the walking around. So Edward proposes we sit at one of the restaurants to have a better bite to eat than the junk we picked at throughout the day.

"I'm sorry we won't be able to stay much longer." He looks down at his watch. "I have to meet with Emmett because we both have to be at his club tonight."

"Emmett has his own club?" I ask incredulously.

"No—we all run and own all the clubs. We just have ones that are more our individual responsibilities than others. Since he's gonna be away, I have to go and make sure I know what's what in case shit goes down in his absence."

"What's the worst that can happen?"

"It's a club. Something always happens."

"Another strip club?"

"Nah, just a regular one."

We eat quickly, and I try my best not to gorge on the food after working up an appetite with walking around so much.

When he brings me home, making sure to walk me to my door, he gives me another round of sweet kisses. Then he tells me, sadly, the next couple days are up in the air as far as his schedule and availability but he'll make sure to find a way to see me.

So in truth, the week begins just fine. Even going back to work Tuesday isn't so bad.

There are some changes, but that isn't rare after being off for two days in a row.

One thing I can always count on with this job is there's always something new going on and different girls flitting in and out trying their hand at the pole.

When I return to work, Leah has the day off so it's Sam and the new girl who started over the weekend. Realizing I still have no clue what her name is, I whisper to Sam to get his attention.

"What's her name again?"

He snickers. "Chilly."

"Like the food you eat? Like one of the members of TLC or—"

"Like when you're cold," he struggles to hold in laughter, "with a' y'."

"Thanks, pal." I give him a pat on the back. "And what about these new ones?" I gesture with my eyes around the club at some other new girls. It's a fairly steady day, not too busy, not too dead—so hanging out a little bit isn't a big deal.

"That one," he points, resting his hand on the back of my neck to guide my head sideways, "goes by Peaches—she's cool." I nod, taking note to remember to make nice with that one. "Her," he points to another girl dancing in the corner with a guy I fear is on the verge of a heart attack, "is Ms. Banner. You don't want to have your mouth full with anything when you talk to her. She's funny as shit."

"Nice."

"And I'm not sure about anyone else. I worked yesterday but not Sunday."

"Hey guys! What's up?"

Sam and I look over and give Jacob a strange look at the strange influx in his voice. I had no idea his normal deep tenor could reach almost soprano levels.

"Hello, Jake," Sam greets him, his voice carrying a tone of confusion.

Jake's eyes flitter back and forth between me and Sam, and though he looks as though he wants to say something' he doesn't. After a bit of a stilted conversation with us, he excuses himself and I take to ignoring him for the rest of the night even though it's clear he's watching me like a hawk.

I like Jacob, he's one of the coolest people here, but I'm still a little annoyed with him about joining in on the crypticness at Laurent's shop. I might be letting Edward think I believed him but I can't shake the feeling I was missing something. I thought Jake and I were friends, so it rubbed me the wrong way a little bit. Not like betrayal—that's a little dramatic, even for me—but something along those lines. Basically, it's the knowledge now of where his loyalty would lie—not with me.

The rest of the night is uneventful and when I get home, Rose and I have a girl's night at the house in honor of her leaving early Thursday morning. At one point, Alice even comes over and it feels really good to hang out and get to know her a little better.

Now, Wednesday is when things start veering for the left.

Leah doesn't show up, I'm not sure she even calls, so when I get to work, Ms. Esme immediately calls me into her office.

"Yes ma'am?"

For the first time since I met her, her hard eyes have a bit of a softness to them.

"Sit." Her voice, however, still puts the fear of God in me. "How do you feel about getting behind the bar?"

"Permanently?"

"Perhaps." She shrugs. "But for now, I'm just talking about tonight. Leah's not in."

"Oh, is she okay?"

"The reason she's not here is irrelevant to me, you, and the staff. The point is I need an extra person behind that bar tonight. Sam can spot you if it gets to be too much, but I've watched you working. I think you can handle it."

"Wow," I gush. The bar is a bit intimidating,, but the tips spit in the eyes of what I make as a waitress. Well some nights. "Thanks."

She nods. "Just don't make me regret it."

I thank her and get up to leave, but she calls out to me one more time.

"Oh . . . and do me a favor or yourself a favor for that matter."

"Okay?"

"I'd go easy with the flirting from here on out," she warns, eyes blazing. "I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea and get hurt."

I inhale a quick breath to keep in a retort, knowing her comment is about Edward. What I really want to tell her is to worry about her own fucking life and flirting. But I don't. Instead I go with, "Don't worry. No one's going to get hurt on account of me."

"We'll see."

With it being my first full night behind the bar, it surprises no one that it's madness. Not just in comparing a Wednesday night, but any night in general.

We're slammed, and with so many of the faces recognizing me from being on the floor and running around to kinda bend to their will, they expect the same service behind the bar. Sadly—for them—it doesn't really work that way.

By the end of the night, I'm ready to rip my hair out or go running out of the place with my hands flailing in the air and screaming for my life. So as we're cleaning and wrapping things up, I almost snap at one of the new girls.

"What do you need?"

"Well, excuse me."

"Sorry," I sigh, taking in the barely covered tits and mid-section. "What can I get for you and which one are you?"

"I just want a bottle of water." She hands me a couple dollars. "And I'm Danielle."

I smile at her but squint my eyes trying to recall if I remember hearing her being called tonight. "What's your other name?" I gesture over my shoulder with my thumb at the stage.

"Oh." She scrunches up her face. "I actually don't have one yet. Tonight was my first night."

"What have you gone by before?"

"I haven't," she gets quiet. "This is actually my first time dancing, ever."

Her voice breaks a little, making it clear to me dancing isn't her first choice. I also take note to the fact she looks really young, younger than me and that's saying a lot coming from the woman who could barely pass as twenty-one on a good day. I'm sure there's a story here, I'm sure she might even be expecting me to reach out and tell her she shouldn't be dancing, that there's time to walk the other way, but I don't. If she's not dancing here, she'll be dancing somewhere else. That would be a shame because one thing I've learned is the girls that work at 'Big C' are very much taken care of, and hardly ever complain.

"You'll do fine," I reassure her. "Now about a stage name—does anyone call you Dani?"

"Not really."

"Good, you can go with that."

"So Dani?" She smiles, clearly seeking my opinion. I look at her face for a little bit as her bright green eyes stare at me waiting for approval.

"Green eyes," I whisper out, lolling my head from side to side to see how it sounds. "Dani or Green Eyes. Either one will work."

"Thanks . . ." she stops. "Umm . . ."

"Bella."

"Thanks, Bella," she says sweetly, taking the bottle of water and walking away. "It was nice to meet you!"

"You too!" I call out after her.

"You're a really sweet girl you know that?"

I jump and whip around to look over, then up at Sam. "You scared me, fucker."

"My fault," he laughs, then taps my chin with a finger. "But really, Bella, you're one of the nicest girls here. It's nice to see." I smile softly at his compliment, but squirm a little under his gaze. I'm not sure if he's flirting or trying to and I'm actually thankful when Jacob pops up, bursting the weird little bubble.

He looks at me pointedly. "Want me to walk you to your car, Bella?"

"That's okay," I tell him a little flatly.

"No really—"

"I said it's okay. We're all walking out together right now, right?" I look between both of them.

I feel Jake's glare on the side of my face and see Sam nod slowly before I grab my things from under the bar and make my out. When I get to my car, I notice Jake following me. I whirl around on him.

"Stop," I snap. "I appreciate you trying to walk me but stop. Stop watching me at the club and stop trying to interrupt any time I have a conversation with Sam or any guy for that matter. You've never done that before and if Edward put you up to it—tell him to stop."

"I'm just doing my job, Bella. Relax."

"Whatever." I scoff. "I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight."

With a theatrical exit, I slam my car door and peel off. Then I admonish myself a little because Jacob doesn't deserve all my annoyance dumped on him. Edward deserves some too.

Which leads us to Thursday.

The day is shit.

And it's not one of those days that start off good, but then someone or something rubs you the wrong way and kills your mood for the rest of the day, either. No, from beginning to end, it's pure and utter crap.

It's a day where you wake up and already have a scowl on your face and a glare in your eyes. The quintessential 'woke up on the wrong side of the bed'. And something hangs in the air letting you know the day is going to end badly.

I'm not for certain if it's because I might have had a bad dream and can't remember it. Or that I subconsciously went to bed upset. It may even be because I wake up at five in the morning to see Rosalie off when she leaves to meet Emmett because he lives closer to the airport. It may even be because I have to be at the club at nine o'clock for a quarterly staff meeting and I realize seeing my co-workers first thing in the morning is nowhere near the picnic it is to see them at night. Many things could have attributed to my abysmal mood. But one thing I do know, is the minute I walk out of the club, and I see my car leaning over a little bit is when I end up losing my shit.

And it's not pretty.

"Really?" I screech, barreling toward my car and whipping off my sunglasses. "For real?" I stare at the flat tire.

They're not new, but they are not old either. The road leading to the club and around my apartment is void of potholes, and I know I didn't drive around any construction sites where I might have drove over random nails.

I look around at everyone's car and see, from my vantage point, there doesn't seem to be anything amiss. No cars are toilet papered, no paint seems scratched or keyed up, windows not busted, so I know it wasn't some knucklehead kid walking around and fucking with people.

I lean down and swipe my hand over the tire in an attempt to inspect if by chance I'm wrong and maybe I did drive over something. But that goes to the pits of hell when I hear Edward's voice come from behind me.

"Hey, sweetheart."

A chill runs down my spine and I slowly straighten it up to look over at him. "What are you doing here?"

With a small smile, he tells me he knew Esme had a meeting with the wait staff today and wanted to come after and surprise me by taking me to lunch.

"How convenient."

His face falls. "What's wrong?"

"As if you don't know," I accuse.

"Actually, I don't."

"I have a flat tire."

"Oh? Do you have a spare?" he asks nonchalantly. When he takes a step toward me, I glare at him and take a deliberate step back. "Am I missing something?"

"Not at all." I cross my arms and jut my chin to the trunk. "I have a spare in there, but something tells me you already knew that."

"How would I have known that?" When I raise an eyebrow at him, his whole demeanor changes—his face hardens, his eyes narrow, and I see his jaw clenching over and over. "What the fuck are you trying to say, Bella?"

"I'm not _trying_ to say anything. I just find it pretty damn coincidental you happen to show up the two times some random shit happens to my car."

He scoffs, but then chuckles darkly. "You're out of your fucking mind."

"Am I?"

"Why the hell would I mess with your car?"

"I don't know." I drop my arms and shrug with my hands. "Maybe you have some weird hero complex."

"Hero complex?" he laughs. "I'm sorry sweetheart, but I have no interest in ever playing captain save a—"

"Save a what!?" I snap.

"It's a general fucking statement." He raises his hands in defense. "And I'm not gonna argue with you. Trust me on that. But please—please tell me what I have to gain from toying with your car."

"I don't know!" I shout. But the look on his face has my anger deflating almost instantly and morphing into sheer embarrassment. "Fuck." I drop my hands to my sides. "I don't know." Have I lost my mind? "I'm really tired," I tell him. "And I'm not having a good day. Delirium makes me . . . just—I'm sorry." I move my hands to the side of my face and look back down at my car.

"Hey." He wraps his hand around one of my wrists to turn me to face him. "I promise I didn't mess with your ride." Then he flashes me a smile. "But cars aren't indestructible, sometimes shit happens to them—like flat tires."

I give him a look that says don't fuck with me, because I know I'll lose my shit all over again if he's trying to be patronizing.

"Okay," he relents. "I'm not saying I disagree. It does look suspect, but . . ."

"No, I get it," I sigh, looking back to my car. I've had so many issues with it, I guess the tire losing air is just one more thing to add to the list. "This is probably God's way of telling me it's time to let it go."

"I wouldn't go that far," he teases me. "But if you want, I can change the tire for you."

"It's just a donut but—"

"Is it flat, too?"

"No."

"Then it'll do. But is it okay if I follow you home and make sure you get there alright?"

"Paranoid?"

"Uh . . . yeah," he answers in a 'duh' tone. "I hate that donut shit. You need a new tire—a real tire asap."

"I'll get one."

He smiles and nods, and I hope he realizes my statement is meant to both reassure him as well as let him know I can take care of it on my own this time.

When I pop my trunk and pull out the tire, I realize I don't have all the necessary tools I thought I did. I have a tire iron, but I don't see the jack.

"Wonderful."

"What is it?"

Slamming down the trunk of my car, I look up at Edward, defeated. "Can you just take me home please? I'll find a way to work, but right now, I just want to get home."

He frowns but nods, tugging me by the hand to the car.

We're completely quiet on the way there. I'm exhausted, I'm annoyed and not the best of company at the moment. And something tells me Edward's still reeling from my earlier accusation.

When we pull into my apartment complex, I place my hand on his arm. "Edward, I'm sorry," I tell him sincerely. This is one of those moments where humor would be inappropriate. "Like I said earlier, I'm just having a rough morning and it wasn't fair of me to take it out on you like that."

"It's cool—I mean not really, but I'm not mad that the idea came to your mind. In this day and age," he chuckles, "it's always good to be smart. Don't ever be too trusting, Bella." He gives me a pointed look with the warning. "Even of me."

"Are you telling me not to trust you?"

"I'm telling you to be careful who you trust. I'm not saying you're naïve, but I can tell you're very accepting of people. That's not always a good thing."

Pursing my lips at his backhanded compliment, I tell him I need to get inside and relax for a little bit. Then figure out what to do with my car.

"Do you want me to pick you up for work? I plan on being there tonight anyway."

"Thanks, Edward." I smile. "That would be helpful."

"No worries. And the car—"

"I'll figure it out, okay? I have to," I almost plead. As much as I appreciate his help the last time, and know he would be willing to jump in again, this feels like a time where I really need to sort shit out on my own. If all else fails, I could ask him for advice or suggestions, but I need to try first.

"I understand. Just know I'm here for you."

I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek. "And that means more than you'll ever know."

Sleep doesn't come easy for me for the rest of the day no matter how hard I try and salvage the hours I lost from waking up early. The two sides of my brain are too busy working overtime at trying to figure out what the fuck is going on and what to believe. It's a battle of one side thinking I'm overreacting and the other scoffing and saying no one's luck is that bad.

In this moment, I really wish Rose hadn't left today so I could have a sounding board to discuss my thoughts with. I debate calling Alice, or maybe Leah, the only other girls in my life but decide against it. We're cool but we're not that close.

Against my better judgment, I call my mother Renata, who everyone calls Renee. As far as mothers and daughters go, I would say we have a decent relationship. It's not volatile like some—see Rose and Tanya—but we also don't make a point to call each other several times a week to catch up.

I've been in Florida for about four months now with no desire to visit. And I started at the club a little over two months ago, but I don't even think she knows where I work. She answers on the forth ring and our conversation is quick. She's happy to hear from me but we're not good with small talk so I cut to the chase and tell her about what's been going on with my car, hoping to get an objective ear. Her response is that she wouldn't worry about it too much.

"_What reason would anyone have to tamper with your car, honey?"_

"That's the thing," I reply, a little whiny. "I keep to myself for the most part and don't mess with anyone. But it's just too weird for it not be something."

"_Okay, then if you think that—file a police report."_

"Mom. That's a little much, no? I have absolutely no enemies and no proof of foul play, and . . ." I trail off. "Well played, Mother." I chuckle.

She laughs. _"I love a mystery just like anyone else, but sometimes two plus two just equals fourwithout there being a big reason behind it. You've had that car for a long time."_

"Yeah."

"_Now if it blows up one day out of nowhere, then we might need to revisit the situation."_

I giggle, thankful to have shed my initial hesitation to call her, then end the conversation with a promise to call again soon.

In preparation for work and to unwind, I declare a bubble bath is in order. After pouring some soap and bath salts into the tub, I turn on the water and head into my room to look for something to wear while it fills up.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I survey my closet trying to decide what will work best for tonight. If I had my choice, it would be sweat pants and a t-shirt. But even on my worst days, I've never gone that route. For footwear I've done sneakers, flats, wedges, even heels—never again. Clothing choices have been a mix of jeans, shorts, twill pants, jumpsuits and different style tops but never a dress. I have no intention of starting that trend tonight either.

"Jeans it is!" I announce to no one.

When I make my way back to the bathroom, I yelp a little when I realize the tub would have flooded over had I spent another minute fucking around in my closet.

Having to spend several minutes scooping the water out with a tiny bucket isn't conducive to getting to relax so bath time gets cut short.

Getting ready is also a treat because no bad day would feel fulfilled without a bad _hair_ day thrown in to the mix.

In my mind I was flattening my hair—however it's decided the finger in the light socket look is all the rage because I look ridiculous. With one last attempt, before it's ponytail time, I try and curl it.

Mid-curl the doorbell rings, though, so I abandon the idea and throw the curling iron down to run and answer it.

I do my best to offer Edward a wide smile when I see him on the other side of the door, but my mood only allows for a small one.

"Ready?"

I fluff my hair with my fingers and decide fuck it; I'll finish fixing it at work, so I quickly grab my purse and follow him out. Thankfully by the time I get there and look in the mirror, the bride of Frankenstein impersonation has deflated.

Work that night sucks, but I'm sure I don't have to tell you that. You saw it coming.

Leah's a bitch.

Jacob's a pain.

Sam hovers.

Aro stares.

The crowds of people are needy assholes who aren't in the tipping mood. And when Edward calls for me upstairs but refuses to actually let me wait on him, I almost rip his head off. Fun times are had by all.

As I'm waiting for him outside, I stay close to the club's entrance and stare at my car from a distance.

"You should probably get that towed before you get a ticket or something."

I furrow my brows and look over at Jacob. "Huh?"

"If you let it sit idle for a few days, one of the cops in the area is bound to notice and make a big stink about it."

I nod, understanding what he's trying to tell me. "It's not dead," I inform him. "I just had a flat and didn't have everything needed to change it."

"Want me to change it for you?"

"You got a jack?"

"Yeah, in my car."

I nod. "Sure, thanks."

As we're by my car, Edward pulls up and takes in the scene of Jacob working on my flat. "Did you get a tire?"

"No." I shake my head. "It's still the donut."

He hums. "Okay, well can I still drive you home?"

"What about my car?"

"Jake can drive it," he offers up his friend's services. Being beyond mentally exhausted, and admittedly wanting to spend even a few more minutes with Edward, I look over at Jacob to see if this is okay with him. He nods and tells us it won't be a problem and that he'll have Leah and Aro—who he was giving a ride home—drive his car behind him to my house and meet them.

"Leah took her home the other day, so she should remember how to get there," Edward tells Jacob, letting him know he's in approval of the idea. Then looking down at me, he smiles warmly. "Come on, I have a feeling you haven't eaten all day. Let's grab something."

"It's after two in the morning."

"We'll make it light."

The trip to the diner is short once it's clear my appetite is shit. "I kinda just want to go home and lie down." He smiles in understanding but not before making sure I get a to-go bag for my food in case I change my mind later.

"Hey, by the way," he calls for my attention when we get in the car. "I spoke to Emmett. They got to London okay and once he gets Rose set up with a phone, she said she'll call you."

I smile and lean my head sideways against the seat to look at him. "Thank you." Whether he knew the effect it would have on me or not, the reminder of my best friend—though I already miss her—was one of the few things that could bring a smile to my face at the moment.

When he mimes my body's posture and leans his head sideways to look into my eyes, we sit staring at each other for a few minutes. Me with tired eyes and his twinkling. "Edward?" His name drips from my mouth throatily as I feel my body leaning over to him without prompt.

He bends as I lean and our lips make contact roughly. I fist his shirt, arching my body into him as best as I can in the confined space. His hands snake around to cup the back of my neck and I loll it to the right, as he tilts his to the left. I open my mouth in response to the tip of his tongue probing at my lips and his fingers digging into my skin.

It's a battle of lips, tongues and teeth clashing as our bodies vibrate, trying to get to the other. I bring my left knee underneath me, swinging my right leg over to climb over the seat.

When I settle into his lap, Edward hisses and reaches around to grab two handfuls of ass to move me over him. I'm uncomfortable as all hell, but not enough to suggest we stop. If any stopping happens at my request right now, it'll be to suggest we take this to his or my place so he could fuck away my bad day.

The decision is unfortunately made for us when his phone vibrates in his pocket. I growl at it.

"You cock-blocking mother-fucker, this better be good." That's how he answers the phone. Since I'm still on his lap, the phone is only inches away from me, so I'm able to hear Jacob telling him in a panic to get me to my apartment as soon as possible.

I fly back over to my side of the car and buckle up my seatbelt as Edward tears out of the diner parking lot like a bat out of hell.

We've barely pulled into my complex, and the car isn't fully parked before I jump out.

I don't hear the ruckus of what's going on or what everyone is saying. Questions are being fired around me, firemen are telling people to step back, and I can see my neighbors looking around at each other for guidance. I'm numb as I crane my head up and stare at the black cloud of smoke engulfing the sky and releasing its ashes into the air.

In that moment, I'm in my own hell as I watch the flames concentrated on our side of the building. I can't worry about my things, I can't worry about where I'll sleep tomorrow. All I see is the place I called home for the past few months dying, the place Rose fought and struggled to get all on her own.

She left this morning and when she comes back, she won't have a place to stay. I let out a bitter laugh at myself, thinking about all the trivial things that got on my nerves today. Things that seem so mundane now, like waking up early, almost flooding the bathroom, my stupid bad hair day . . .

"Oh my God," I croak. hunching over. My hair. The fucking curling iron.

"It's okay, sweetheart." I feel Edward's arm wrap around me and I fall into his chest. How could I have been to stupid—so careless. Things are far from okay right now.

I hear him speaking to a few people and I recognize the voices of Leah, Jacob and Aro, but I can barely breathe, let along speak to them.

There's a brief discussion about where I'll stay tonight, the landlord comes and offers a few of us hotels, and Leah offers her place since I might be more comfortable with a girlfriend. Edward argues and tells them all he'll make sure I'm taken care of. In any other circumstance, I would be livid and annoyed with them discussing me like I'm not standing right here but I'm too spent for any of that pride shit right now.

After a few minutes of listening to their haggling, I look up and agree to going home with Edward.

The ride to his place is silent. He holds my hand on his lap and I catch him looking over at me several times but never does he urge me to talk or try to overly console me, and for that I'm grateful.

His place is huge, of course. I barely take in the massive space and large windows. I notice we're high up as well, but it's hard for me to focus on any of that.

"There are two guest bedrooms, so you can take your pick."

"Thank you." My voice is scratchy and hoarse from crying, and I cringe at the sound of it. With a quick kiss to my forehead, he tells me I can always come into his room if I need him, and though the idea is tempting—in so many ways—I need a moment to decompress sans company.

I cry in the shower, and I cry as I'm getting ready for bed. And the tears don't stop as I rest my head on the pillow. It's the first time in a long time, if ever, I've cried myself to sleep.

As that was the start of my Friday, the rest of the day seems like a dream or out-of-body experience. I don't leave the guest room and I vaguely take in Edward's coming and going as he speaks to me through the bedroom door. I don't go to work, I don't have the strength—though I should find it, seeing as how I have to buy all new shit. The thought and realization only serves to produce a fresh round of tears.

By night time, Edward's had enough of the Debbie-downer routine, and barges in the room with food in his hand.

"You're in the same spot I left you this morning. I'm not saying you shouldn't feel the way you're probably feeling right now—I had a fire in college and it took months to get my shit back. But, baby, I'm so fucking thankful you weren't in there when that fire went down. That's what you need to focus on right now."

I roll over on my side and look over at him but stay silent. The gratitude and 'it could've been much worse' scenarios haven't sunk in. Really, I'm not there yet.

"If crying is your thing—cry. If you need a drink, say the word and I'll get whatever bottle you need. But the depression shit, I can't let it happen on my watch. At Coco Walk, you said you like sushi so that's what I brought." I lift my head and see a tray in one hand and a bag in another. I blink at it. "And these are from Alice and Esme. Don't ask me about sizes and all that shit 'cause I don't know, but there are a couple pairs of jeans, shirts and shoes in here."

"Tell them I said thank you," I whisper.

He nods and sets the food down on the nightstand and the bag on the floor before walking out of the room quietly.

I don't know when I fall asleep. But I wake up early the next morning feeling much better than I did the day before. I also look around my room and see the food has been removed and the few items of clothing are hanging in the closet. I smile. 'Caring' makes its way to the list and I decide I should make Edward some breakfast in an attempt to show my gratitude.

I brush my teeth, and wash my face having taken a shower right before bed and dressing into the new pajamas either Alice or Esme got me.

The fridge is packed to the brim, and I rub my hands together ready to let my mind get lost in preparing an array of items.

But then I stop myself because most people don't realize it, but breakfast foods can be just as crucial with the 'hows' as many lunch and dinner foods. For example, how does Edward like his eggs? Scrambled with cheese like me, or maybe over easy. Should I fry the bacon to the point where it's burnt to a crisp or does he prefer it chewy? Don't even get me stated on how long I should toast the bread.

I debate making it however the hell I like and then he would just have to eat it and like it, but what's the point in that if I'm doing it for him to thank him. I grumble and make my way to his room so I could ask, but my heart drops to my toes at the same time my stomach lurches to my throat in panic at the noises coming from inside.

The first thing I hear is his moaning and when I don't hear anything in response, I know he's alone. Good for him 'cause I would have lost my shit if he had the balls to bring some bitch home. I don't care that I'm not his girlfriend and technically just an overnight guest. There would have been bloodshed.

The second thing I hear is my name.

I don't have boundary issues, not before this moment at least. But there was nothing that was going to stop me from getting a peek of what was going on.

With the door barely cracked open, I'm not able to see much, but it's enough. I get a side view of him in bed, one leg bent at the knee with his foot flat. The blankets are thrown off, his pants are on the floor, wife beater pulled high over his chest and one arm bent behind his back.

But most importantly— his cock is in his hand.

I lick my lips as I watch him moving over his dick, up and down, up and down.

"Fuck." That's him, not me. I bite down on my lower lip, almost gnawing it off to avoid letting anything slip out and bringing attention to myself.

He's being quiet about it, but it's clear he's a vocal one.

"You like that, sweetheart?"

I gulp and nod my head, even though he's clearly not talking to me.

"Let me fuck that pussy, Bella."

"Shit." I panic 'cause that time it _is_ me.

I make a mad dash to the bedroom and cross my legs to try and stave off the aching now present between my legs. It doesn't work.

"Fuck it." I get up and lock the door, then almost rip off my shorts and fling them to the floor. I try and be as quiet as possible, I don't tend to be that loud to begin with but fuck —the two seconds of watching Edward has me wetter than any damn porno ever did.

With two fingers of one hand rubbing at my clit, and the other curled under my thigh probing in and out of my pussy, it's no surprise I come hard and fast. Turning my head into the pillow to muffle the sound of me screaming out Edward's name.

When I compose myself and make my way to the kitchen—I'm met with a showered, changed, and smirky Edward. Whether it's because he heard me or knew I was spying I'm not sure.

Either way, it's a sign I need to be more careful. And the next few days, or weeks, depending on how long this arrangement lasts, is going to be very interesting.


	9. Chapter 9

_Luck consists largely of hanging on by your fingernails until things start to go your way.  
-Aaron Allston_

**=9=**

I've, unfortunately, experienced living with a guy before—which is where the comments I made to Aro about not getting tied down too young came from.

Straight out of the gate in high school, I did the stereotypical move of falling in love with the guy in the dorm down the hall. By sophomore year, we were shacking up and planning our future. And by senior year, Raoul and I hated each other.

It wasn't a tragic break-up. No one cheated or threw the other's shit out on the lawn in the middle of the night. There wasn't a big argument or even pleading to 'make it work'. And even our hatred, as it turnsout, was really underlying resentment for the other, praying the other one would call it off first.

From the day we stepped foot on campus to when we donned our caps and gowns, a lot of time had passed and with it brought change. We had changed. But one thing's for sure,we loved each other and decided in our own minds to fight and make it our own fucked up way.

We tamped down our excitement over new interests and hobbies, not wanting to leave our partner out. Still hung out with the friends we had outgrown, and tried our best to go on with plans people expected us to follow through. But that only lasted so long, because by the end of our relationship, we were nothing more than roommates. The day we broke it off, I think we both breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the stifling situation.

It was then I made a little vow to myself to never just be a guy's roommate. Not a guy I had an interest in, that is.

So as a week passes, I'm almost climbing the walls with the way living with Edward has played out.

Short of paying him rent, I'm nothing more than his fucking roommate. And let me just tell you, the rent discussion went over as well as loud fart in church.

I offered, he looked at me like I was crazy, and then I promptly slid my money back in my pocket and pretended I was joking. I wanted to make sure he knew my acceptance of his gratitude didn't equal me ever wanting to use him. And he informed me, pretty fucking bluntly, that only an unfeeling asshole would take money from his 'girl' for giving her a place to stay after her home burned down in a fire.

With a challenging eyebrow raised in his direction, I attempted to will him to elaborate on the 'his girl' thing, but he didn't. So I shrugged it off and decided not to make a big deal about it. I don't remember being there for the conversation where we established ourselves, but if he wanted to call me his girl, I really wasn't going to argue. I just hope he knows what that means for him later on.

Shit, I wish _I _knew what that meant for me 'cause it sure has hell didn't equate to me having sex with him.

I mean . . . okay, I wasn't trying to jump into bed with him right away—not really. I was fine with prolonging the 'playing hard to get' thing because I think he got off on it a little. But would it kill him to engage in some boob gropes? Some finger fun times? Some nub nub rub rub? I don't think so.

I got the searing kisses to the point of panty destruction. A dry hump here and there. Lingering touches if we had to pass each other around the condo. Sweet kisses behind my ear if I was cooking.

And then . . . nothing.

I would go to bed alone and frustrated, fighting the urge to hump my pillows.

And in the morning, he would be his smirky, smuggish self. I figured he was doing this on purpose. In fact, I knew he was. And though I was good with giving it as good as I got it—he didn't play fair.

I was gaining the upper hand—having purchased a few new items to sleep in. I spent the last couple days relishing in my victory and walking around the condo like I was the fucking I owned the place.

Big mistake.

Because it turned out he had a secret weapon.

Kryptonite if you will.

And he played his hand this morning. Something that would force any woman to throw down her cards and fold.

His teasing and testing and pushing me to the brink was always after he was dressed and ready—in some form—for the day.

But this morning being Saturday, he had nowhere to go that required an early wake up call. So as I was making a late breakfast, a groggy Edward came shuffling out of his bedroom scratching his stomach and croaking out a good morning. All he had on were black boxer briefs.

I stared at the cut of his lower stomach and followed with my eyes up from his happy trail past his belly button, up to his defined chest and then stopped.

Six letters—C-U-L-L-E-N—in bold scripted ink, right below his collarbones and right above his chest.

Game over. I'm done. Whore down.

I pretended like it didn't affect me. I even managed a joke about him only missing the words 'Thug Life' tatted on his stomach. But I wasn't fooling anyone. I spent the rest of the day glaring at his chest like it was the enemy—even after he put clothes on.

And the ride to work—he had taken to driving me—was filled with nothing but tension. And by that, I mean of the sexual kind.

"God, could you be any more spaced out?"

Drumming my fingers on the top of the bar, I blink at Sam. "I'm bored. The night is shit. I'm sexually frustrated. Let me have my thoughts."

He chuckles, but it's a little husky and my eyes threaten to roll out of their sockets.

The flirting has gotten just a bit out of hand the past couple days but more than anything, it's annoying as hell. Sam's a flirt in general and this week he's zeroed in on me.

Whatever, it'll pass. About two weeks ago, he was salivating over Rose.

"Why are we even open?" I whine a little. It's deader than dead tonight. The twenty percent chance of rain morphed into a one hundred percent chance of tsunami. Every now and then, I look out the window to make sure there aren't any cows or trees flying around twister-style.

"That's why," Leah jumps in—pointing to a few lone guys here and there; then at Dani sitting on a guy's lap. "'Cause there's always some dick in search of some pussy."

Wow. I make a bit of a cringing face, not knowing how to answer. As Sam just shakes his head and walks away. I won't front 'cause a good dig is a good dig, but it teetered just above the line of snarky comment to low blow.

And Leah's been all about both the past few days.

I decide I've had enough. "They're not gonna do anything," I scoff, defending my little friend.

"Why?" Leah looks at me smugly. "'Cause boss man says so? That those types of things don't go down in his club? Get real, Bella."

A good chunk of the workers here know of Edward, unless you're like me and don't bother thinking past Ms. Esme. But even of those who know of him, even less know exactly what he looks like. Leah figuring out who he was with all the commotion over the past week, has only served to annoy her with me even more.

I was fine taking her snips here and there. But the mere mention of him coming from her mouth and in such a reproachful way had my brow cocked up bitch-style and my hands clenched into fists. The one thing about me, though, I don't snap and yell and do that rowdy shit.

So with a sweet smile and a bat of my eyelashes, I look at her. "Oh no, that's not what I meant. I think we all know what goes down in that room downstairs. The same room you tried convincing Jacob to go in with you a few weeks ago but he shut you down." And with a wink, I walk away and move to the other side of the bar.

My smile turns genuine when I see Alice. "That was harsh," she laughs.

I gasp. "You heard that?"

"You weren't exactly quiet."

"Oh, well." Since I don't feel bad, I merely shrug. "What're you up to anyway?" It's a bit of a shock to see her here. She doesn't dance that often, and never does when her and Jasper are 'on again' in their relationship. Seeing as she's in what looks like cloth pants and a cute little vest thing—she's not dancing tonight either.

"Edward called Jasper to come over here for him because something happened at Emmett's club."

I nod—that wouldn't be the first time this week. Apparently with Emmett away, a few of the staff thought it was going to be time to play. He's more hands-on and apparently a hard ass to work with. Edward squashed their dreams of a free ride and not everyone's been acting like they should be. Like people who need their jobs.

"Anyway, he wanted me to tell you he might be a few minutes late picking you up so to just wait for him inside. He wasn't sure if you were going to have your phone on you."

"Thanks."

Our night comes to an end pretty early and by the time we would normally be announcing 'last call', all the chairs are up and everything is spotless. The rain is still coming down, not at the level it was earlier, but enough that a few of the girls—along with me, Leah, and Sam—stay inside and share a few drinks.

When it's about ten minutes after what would be our regular closing time, and I notice the rain has subsided, I venture outside to wait for Edward.

I pull out and light a cigarette, only to find myself grimacing at the taste my body seems to have grown unaccustomed to over the past week or so.

"I didn't know you smoked."

I scowl at my hand but it's a little bit at Sam, too. "I guess I don't." Then I flick it away and into a small puddle by my foot.

"I'm not a heavy smoker either. Just social I guess. So when I go some time in between, it takes me a few to get used to it."

I really don't think it's possible for me to care less about a conversation than I do in this moment. "Well, goodnight." I try and dismiss him.

"Where's your ride?"

There goes that.

I sigh. "My ride will be here soon, no worries." He wasn't around for the dramatics that was the tire fight or subsequent weeping in Edward's arms at my apartment, so as far as I know, his question is innocent.

"I can wait with you."

"Nope. No need. Thanks. Actually, I think I'll just go wait inside." Like I was fucking asked to.

"It's always the assholes," I hear him mumble under his breath.

"What did you just say?"

"Whoever this guy is that has you waiting is an asshole. It's always the ones that don't appreciate it that get all the girls. I would never keep you waiting."

Oh, boy. I look at him again and realize his eyes are a little glossy. A side effect from the drinking inside, I presume. Idiots, I only had one little drink while the rest of them practically binged.

"Sam." I offer him a sad smile. "You are barking up the wrong tree here. Trust me."

"Bella—" he takes an advancing step toward me "—you deserve so much better."

And then it happens. Before I could blink or move away, he places a kiss on my lips. A nasty, sloppy, halitosis-ridden kiss.

I groan in disgust and grab his shirt to push him away from me, but the fucker is strong. I'll admit, for a brief second here, I get pretty fucking scared.

Then I hear it.

"Bella, what the fuck?"

Sam snaps his head back when he hears the voice, allowing me just enough of his distraction to push him off of me and make a bee line for Edward. When I throw my arms around him, he's stiff as a board, until he realizes I'm shaking.

He places his hand on my shoulder and takes a step back. "What happened?"

I shake my head. "Let's just go."

His fingers pinch my chin as he forces me to look at him. "I asked you what happened."

"I'll deal with him tomorrow, Edward," I say, noting the look in his eyes. "Or Monday, I mean. It's no big deal." It actually is a huge fucking deal, but getting home is my priority first and foremost over Sam being a drunken douche.

I should have known it wasn't going to be that easy.

In what I know he assumes is a gentle way, Edward moves me to the side and walks over to Sam, who now has his pants pulled down and is pissing on the side of the building. I shake my head. Some people just really shouldn't drink.

"Hey, dickhead!"

Lazily craning his head to the side, Sam looks over at Edward. "Yes?" And tucks himself back in, wiping his hands over his jeans. Eww!

Edward isn't deterred by the lack of hygiene. He takes a long stride over to Sam and grabs the collar of his shirt. "Did Bella say you can touch her?"

I'm right behind him."Edward, just let it go."

"Did she?"

The look on Sam's face is all the answer Edward needs and before he could even say the word 'no', Edward reaches into his pocket, does a little flick of his wrist and just like that, the tip of a knife is resting right underneath Sam's chin.

Holy shit! "What the fuck are you doing?" I shriek. But it's like I'm not even there.

"What would possess you . . ." Edward starts but shakes his head. "Never mind. Just give me one good reason why I shouldn't slit your throat right now?"

Oh, my God. "Are you insane? Stop this!" Again, it's like talking to a brick wall. Sam, though, cuts his eyes over at me. Not good. The tip of the knife gets turned sideways and moves to Sam's Adam's apple.

"Did I say for you to fucking look at her? Or am I the one talking to you right now?"

"I-I . . ."

"Apologize."

Sam gulps and I can see his dilemma. One, talking with a knife at your throat can't be very comfortable. Two, just looking at me brought the situation to 'shits about to get real' status—there's no telling if the order to talk to me is just a set-up. And three, Edward is clearly fucking insane.

"Do you want me to fuck your shit up?" Edward snaps. "I said _apologize._"

"I didn't mean to touch your girl, man."

I shake my head slowly at the dumbass and even Edward looks caught off guard for a second. "To Bella, fuck shit. Not me."

I get my choked out apology, Edward gets in one last threat, and then Sam scurries off—leaving me with the madman with a knife.

"You okay?"

My eyes widen but I nod. I'm as 'okay' as I can be after watching him threaten a man's life.

"Good." He bends the metal against his thigh, sliding it back into his back pocket. "Ready?"

My head racing, chest heaving, and erratic breathing say no, but my feet move forward—giving him a wide berth as I round the other side of the car. I see him roll his eyes. "I'll never hurt you, sweetheart. I don't know why you're looking at me like that."

Silence is my friend at the moment, so refuting the desire to fling myself into the back seat, I quietly climb into the car and keep my mouth shut the entire way home. There's just no telling what I might say because it's a plethora of fuckery going on inside my head right now.

Mainly: Edward with a knife is scary as shit—but Edward sticking up for me the way he did? The hottest fucking thing I've been privy to. He's right, I am insane. I guess we're perfect for each other in that sense. I wonder if they'll let us bunk together in the psych ward we're both bound to end up in.

We're both mute when we finally make it into Edward's condo. As I make my way to stand in front of the windows and stare out over the beach, I hear him fumbling and banging around in the kitchen.

Then I feel him as he comes to stand behind me.

"So you walk around with a knife in your pocket."

"Yup."

I turn around slowly, then tilt my head to the side to observe him. "Why?"

"Why do I carry a blade?" I stare at him blankly. Obviously that's what I mean. He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. "Just do. You never know when someone's gonna try and fuck with you. Best to be prepared."

"And you figure walking around with a weapon is the smartest way to 'be prepared'?"

"Pretty much." I cross my arms. If we wants to have a serious talk, he's gonna need to chill with the indifference. "Baby, relax," he scoffs. "It's just a blade. It's not like I whipped out the nine I keep in my glove compartment."

"Nice."

He winces at the realization of what he just shared. "I didn't just say that."

"Don't worry—" I give him a sarcastic smile "—I have every intention of pretending I didn't hear it. So with that being said, I'm beat. Goodnight."

"Bella . . ."

I put my palm out in a silent prayer for him to stop what he's about to say. "I'm not mad. And I'm not scared. I'm not . . . whatever other word you're thinking about telling me not to be right now. What I am—is exhausted and dying for a shower."

"Understood." He nods. "Can I have a kiss goodnight?" I grimace at the thought of kissing him after Sam tried kissing me and shake my head. "Oh."

I frown in confusion. "What?"

"I guess I wouldn't want to kiss me either after what I pulled," he agrees sadly. I can still hear a bit of an annoyed edge to it though. "But, I really can't apologize for threatening an asshole who put his fucking hands on you without permission."

I almost smack my forehead. "That has nothing to do with me not wanting to kiss you. You just said yourself—Sam tried sticking his tongue down my throat. I'd at least like to brush my teeth."

With reluctance, he wishes me a goodnight—reminding me his door is open if I need anything. The same thing he tells me every night.

I take the longest shower known to man, needing the time to unwind and process the Lifetime movie my life has turned into. I even take a second to wonder who would play me. Then I shake my head at myself. I would play me of course. And I would let Rose play herself, too.

The casting session in my head of the characters stops at Sam, and just like that, I'm seething. I'm also beating myself up 'cause I shouldn't have been so keen to stop Edward. No I didn't want him to hurt the guy—too badly—and I'm pretty sure he wasn't _really_ going to kill him, but an ass whooping wouldn't have been a bad idea.

What an asshole.

I shudder a little at the thought of how far he would have tried to take things had Edward not showed up—if he would have snapped out of it. It was just an unwanted kiss, but the point is it was unwanted, and as far as I could tell, uninvited.

Those thoughts make it almost impossible for me to sleep once I crawl into bed. And when I finally do, I awake with a bit of a start not long after. I look up panicked when I see Edward in my room with a hand on my shoulder.

"You were whining in your sleep—I heard you all the way in my room. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I rub at my eyes then sigh. "It took me forever to fall asleep—I must have been having a bad dream or something."

"I can't imagine why," he mutters wryly. "Wanna come lay down with me?"

My lips open to say 'no that's okay', but my feet swing over the side of the bed before my brain and mouth can coordinate with each other.

Stepping to the side, Edward gestures for me to walk ahead of him. Even in my semi-sleepy state, I know well enough to sway the hips a little in hopes he's staring at my ass. When we climb into his bed, I declare I'm never leaving it. The one in the guest room is comfortable, but this is pure pillow-top and feathered heaven.

With a sleepy smile, he pulls me close to him and tells me I'm welcome to any night I want. I smile and lean in for the goodnight kiss I jipped him of. He responds tentatively, then leans back and shuts his eyes tightly. I, of course, frown.

"What's wrong?"

"You have no idea how bad I want to take you right now."

"I repeat—what's wrong?"

"Tonight's just not a good night for that. 'Cause when I get to fuck you for the first time, it won't be on the same night some guy probably fucked with your psyche."

I want to argue but I don't, because I kinda agree—I don't want any of our times together to be lumped in with the same night of Sam's assholery.

So I roll over and scoot back so my back is against his chest. I fall asleep feeling warm and comfortable, and safe in his arms.

This all gets shot to shit when I'm woken up the next morning to wandering hands and a bulge rubbing against my leg.

I turn in Edward's arms and giggle when I notice he's not even awake. Fuck sleepwalking, he's a sleep groper. I'm not sure which one is more dangerous.

I reach my hands up and trail my fingers over the letters of his chest, causing his eyes to flutter open.

"Hey," he croaks out around a sleepy smile. "What time is it?"

I shrug, not sure of the exact time—just that the sun isn't out yet. "Still early."

"Good." He pulls me into his embrace and rolls us over so he's on his back and I'm resting my head on his chest. "Go back to sleep."

Yeah right. I hitch my thigh over his hips and start placing soft kisses on his neck. He hums and tightens the grip of his arm.

"Don't start something we can't finish, baby," he whispers, while snaking his own hand down around my ass.

I bring my fingers to his cheek just as he turns his head into mine. "I'm not."

Our mouths meet and touch, mold, move against each other's.

Lips.

Teeth.

He rolls over to reposition us. I'm on my back; he's rested in between my thighs. He's in total control of this kiss.

Nipping.

Sucking.

"Sit up a little." He pulls the pillows from under my head and tosses them aside, laying me flat against the mattress.

It's almost predatory now—his smile, as he sits back on his heels and curves his fingers around my shorts. He pulls them off, but leaves on my panties at first.

"These are pretty." He pinches at the purple lace, before they come off, too. "Oh . . . and so is this," he adds, trailing a finger from the top of my pussy, over the small strip of hair, down below my entrance and back up. "I like you not being completely bare."

Noted.

Then one finger—his—goes inside my pussy. I hiss.

"Relax, baby." Another finger. I whimper. "Does that feel good?" Yes. I nod. "Tell me—tell me how good it feels."

Oh! Right … he's a vocal one. "Umm . . ." I got nothing. I look at him embarrassed.

"It's just me," he coos. "Just talk to me and tell me how it feels. How you like it."

I gulp. Okay, I can do that. "Faster?"

He grins and hums in approval, curling and prodding with his fingers at rapid speed. "Like that?"

"Oh! Oh! Yeah. Don't—" fuck I feel stupid "—don't stop."

I'm quiet again after that, it's too good, his magical hands—there are no words. So I don't offer them. My mouth stays open wide, little noises escaping. I'm close, so close—but then . . . my head snaps up. Why'd he stop? Is he trying to get himself killed?

His hands are in his pants, pulling himself out. Oh . . . yeah, that must be a little uncomfortable. I decide to help him by sitting up to grab for the waistband of his boxer briefs. I help slide them down; then I see it.

What the fuck! Where does he think he's going with that thing?

I look up at him in panic. His dick isn't the longest one I've seen. He's just about toe to toe with Raoul to be honest. And there was that one unfortunate one night stand to compare to, plus my videos. No—the length is fine. But the girth, the width, the fucking _circumference _for you mathematicians—Jesus fucking Christ.

I stare at him and expect that cocky smirk, the one I would have to crush. A proud look at the least. But his forehead is creased and his mouth is curled down in a frown.

"I know." He pinches my chin to tilt my head back, he loves to do that. Then soft kisses are placed at the corner of my mouth, and my cheek, to my neck as he leans us back.

"I'm gonna get you so wet," he promises. "So fucking soaked, sweetheart." He nips at my neck. "I won't hurt you," he continues, fluttering the kisses down my chest. "This pussy . . ." he snakes his hand down to pat at my flesh. "You're trusting me with it and I'm gonna take good care of it."

He palms my left tit, flicking his tongue over and over at the shell of my ear. My body shivers as I bite down on my lips.

"Stop that," he snarls, releasing his hand from my chest to release my lips from the confines of my teeth. "I don't know what you're used to, but I told you—I want to _hear_ you."

He scoots down the bed, wrapping his fingers around my thighs to spread them apart. He licks his lips then presses his thumb down on my clit. It's like a switch, as my back practically arches off the bed with the simple touch. His hands move to the back sides of my thighs, behind my knees to push them up and allow him space to settle in.

I'm nervous about this, but vibrating with anticipation—I'm getting my new favorite porn video live and in living color. The eyes stare up at mine as he takes one slow lick. "Mmmm," he hums then takes another one.

"Shit." That's me. "Oh, God." More licks. "Don't stop."

But he does, only for a second though. I look down at him, and he winks. "Good girl."

He gets his wish, his request granted, as he works me over with his tongue. The soft, the warm, the wet sensation against my clit. I thrash, and whimper, and moan out his name. I lose control of my senses and the power to control my body. It's his right now, not mine.

One shoulder lifts on its own as my leg starts to shake. The talking stops again, replaced by strangled breathing. I shut my eyes tight, and feel as my face contorts and a wave of pleasure hits me like a freight train.

"Holy shit." I flop back on the bed. He smiles and sets his foot down on the floor to lean over and reach in the night stand next to the bed.

He pulls out a condom, rips at the wrapper with his teeth then looks at me. "Do you know how to put one on?"

I smirk and tell him to stand up. It was trial and error the first time. I put that shit on inside out and will never make that mistake again. But now—I got enough strength to sit up, I reach for him. Then I channel what I remember from an HBO special from a while ago. I pinch the tip of the condom, sliding it on partially, then wrap my lips around him to help move it along.

"God damn."

_God damn is right, fucker_. I think to myself as I struggle to get my mouth comfortably around him.

I smile and wink then lay back as he crawls over me. With his fingers wrapped at the base of his dick, and my legs spread wide for him, he rubs the head up and down my slit a few times before slowly pushing into me.

My body tenses and my pussy clamps down, ready to ward off the intruder.

"Let it in, baby." He pushes in further, pulls back and pushes forward again. I'm still tense. "Just relax, sweetheart." He drops to his forearm, using the other to cradle my leg. He drives in again, not stopping until there's no more space between our hips. "Shit." He starts moving, slow but deep. In and out. "Your pussy, Bella … fuck."

No words—I have no words as my body starts giving itself over to him again.

Holding himself up with his fist digging into the bed, he looks down at us. "Open those pretty legs wider for me, sexy."

I do—as best I can, almost making a split in the air. But that only lasts a few seconds before he brings them to rest over his shoulders.

Somehow Edward manages to be gentle but rough, aggressive but attentive, and make me feel like he's fucking the shit out of me while making love with me at the same time.

"Are you ready to come for me?" He grunts, adjusting his weight on one hand to flick his fingers over my swollen clit.

I nod but take a deep breath. You can do better than that, Bella. "Yes." I whimper. "Fuck me—make me come for you." I add, clenching my muscles a couple times.

"Do that again," he demands. "Squeeze your pussy around my cock again so I know how it feels when you do it. So I know the difference between when _I make_ you do it."

Oh, well no faking it with Edward ever. Though I don't think I'll have that problem.

When he starts pumping in and out of me at an almost brutal pace—accompanied by the furious rubbing against my clit— time, words, and thoughts cease to exist for us. I start trembling like I'm having a god damn seizure and, after a round of spastic movements, Edward collapses on top of me sounding like he might have an asthma attack.

Both our bodies are covered in sweat. My hair is matted against my neck and the side of my face. And I can barely breathe with Edward's weight on me. But fuck if I don't feel anything but bliss. And after all the bad luck I'd been having, I'd say I kinda deserved this feeling. Here's to hoping it last.

* * *

**Let's see . . . silly tidbits. Mmmhh, well we never hung out after work drinking with each other that's for sure. But, OH I had an ex (paranoid motherfucker) who rode around with a Glock (I think) in his glove compartment, slept with one under the pillow, and ... wait for it ... kept a kitchen knife under the driver's seat of his car... smh, ghetto ass. Wanna know what pissed me off the most? The wasting of a perfectly good kitchen knife. Those shits aren't cheap. The good one's that is. *sigh* yeah I'm kinda fucked like that!**

**Anywho! What did ya think? :-)**

**Thanks for reading**

**~Lo**

**Psst...Astrid C. made a manip of the tat. It's posted in the group :-)**


	10. Chapter 10

_Too much luck is bad luck_

_-_German Proverb

**=10=**

When I go back to work on Monday, I'm surprised to see Sam there. I'm not surprised, however, to see him sporting a black eye and busted lip.

I don't even ask, but I'm not stupid enough to think Edward had nothing to do with it. He looks at me apologetically when I walk into work, but I avert my eyes from his. It's best, moving forward, if he just keeps his distance. We work at a club, we drink and we flirt with people—if for whatever reason he can't handle that, then he needs to get another fucking job. But for now, I'll just stick with staying as far away from him as possible.

"I heard about what happened with Sam," Leah says when I tell her my drink order. I offer her nothing more than a blank stare, not sure where she's going with this. "It was a dick move—we can all tell you're not into to him, and didn't give him any sign that … you, ya know ... liked him or anything."

"Yeah, well, I guess he didn't see that."

"He was just being a dick. But …" she smiles "… nice shiner, huh?"

I can't help but giggle a little with her. "I kinda feel bad—okay not really, but that had to hurt."

"Serves him right, though."

"Yeah," I sigh. "I guess. Anyway, Jack and Coke for the weird guy."

"Oh. Is he back?"

"Yup."

She purses her lips for a second before placing the drink on my tray. "'Does he ever say anything to you when he's here?"

"Not really." I shrug. "He kinda just stares." Then I tilt my head to the side. "Now that I think about it—he mostly stares at you and Chilly." Wiggling my eyebrows I sing, "Someone's got a crush."

She snorts. "Yeah, right."

With a laugh and some more teasing, I make my way back over to him and hand him his drink. In an unexpected move, he smiles and says 'thanks'. He's normally pretty rude, so I'm caught off guard.

"Y-you're welcome." I do my best to offer him a sincere smile, instead of a confused one. "Uh … did you need anything else? Would you like a dance maybe?"

He smiles wide. It's awkward, shy and creepy all at once. All while appraising me. I roll my eyes—but at myself, in realization of what I just implied.

"I don't dance."

"Oh." He frowns. "Then, no—I'm good."

With that, I nod and make my way to the other side of the club, making sure to have Maggie check on him for the rest of the night.

About an hour before closing, Jacob approaches me and lets me know Ms. Esme is asking for me in her office.

"What does she want?" I ask, a little annoyed, not wanting to make anyone who already ordered from me wait.

He shrugs. "Just go, Bella. I'm sure it's important."

I sigh. "Fine." And set down my tray. When I get to her office door, I knock but walk right in. "You needed me?"

"Have a seat."

"Is it super important?" I hedge. "Cause the bar is backed up and there's a few people at tables wanting to make sure they get their drinks before last call, and—"

She narrows her eyes at me. "I'm sorry … did I give you the impression I was gonna repeat myself?"

Bitch.

Grumbling to myself, I flop down on the chair across from her desk.

"I heard about Sam."

"Marvelous."

"Don't be a smart ass, Bella. I'm just checking to make sure you're okay."

"Oh." I let out a breath. "I'm fine, really. I mean I don't trust him anymore, but it was just a kiss. It wouldn't have gone further than that."

"Are you sure?" she challenges. I can't answer that for sure so I stay silent. "That's what I thought. Anyway, if it was up to me—he wouldn't have a job right now. But …" she shrugs. "The decision to keep him went above my head."

I nod in understanding. "So the guys want him around?"

"For whatever fucked up reason, yes." She pauses for a second, tapping her hands on the top of the table before she leans back and crosses her arms over her chest. "Did you know I used to dance once upon a time?"

My eyebrows lift up in surprise. "No, not at all."

"Yeah. Years ago, before I met Carlisle." I adjust myself in my seat to get more comfortable, and give her a small smile to let her know I'm listening. Inhaling a deep breath, she continues. "I was eighteen when I got mixed up with the worst possible guy I could. I was young, dumb and in love and … well, I started dancing 'cause he wanted me to. We needed the money." I frown at her admission. I don't know why I initially thought this might be a nice story. "Anyway, after a couple years," she chuckles bitterly, "and yes, it took a couple years for me to wake up—I left him. His abuse, the situation, I left and never looked back. I went to school—" she smiles proudly "—got my degree in Business. For the first time, I allowed myself to dream big. But you know how things don't always go as planned, right?"

"Don't I know it." Except it's my degree in 'Hospitality Management' that's going to waste.

She tilts her head from side to side. "Yeah, I guess you do. So …" she drops her arms. "Here I am, twenty-six years old and in desperate need of money. The only thing I could think to do was go back to dancing. It was fast cash."

My eyebrows knit together. "I thought you said—"

"I never made it on the stage."

"Why's that?"

"When I came to see if they were hiring, I brought my resume. I just—" she shrugs "—a part of me needed whoever was hiring to know I _was_ capable of more. I don't know," she looks down sadly, "I guess that makes me a hypocrite, but I did it for years. I never wanted to come back and I resented the decision."

I can't even fault her. "So then what did you do? For your interview or whatever?"

"I walked in here and told the truth. I said I don't want to be here, it's just a temporary solution, but that I need the money. He asked me what my plans and goals were, and after looking over my resume, he offered me a job part-time just to help with the office stuff."

I smile, I guess this was a sweet story after all. "And let me guess, he asked you out?"

"God, no." She grimaces. "He introduced me to his brother. Edward's the one who gave me my job."

"Oh." That was unexpected.

"He's a good guy." She gives me her signature pointed look. "I know he might seem gruff and aggressive to some, but he's loyal and protective. If I've learned anything over these past five years, it's that making sure every single girl who works here feels safe and as respected as possible are and he and Carlisle's main goal."

"Okay?"

"I'm telling you this because, personally, I almost flipped my shit that Sam wasn't fired instantly. Deep down, you might feel the same way." I shake my head, because I don't feel that way at all. I don't know Sam's situation, but I would never want someone to lose their job on account of me. "Well, then you're a better person than me. The point is, I know Edward cares about you. By default, Carlisle and the boys will, too. If Sam is here, it's for a reason. But if _anything_ happens again, if he so much as gives you a dirty look—you tell me and he's gone. I won't give a shit what they say."

I smile at her. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. There's one more thing."

"Which is?"

"Every business has their politics. Clubs are no exception and it's important you know that."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"When I started dating Carlisle, I had no idea what that meant. And you and Rose …" she grimaces and shakes her head. "Well, you more than her—'cause she doesn't trust anyone for shit." I snort 'cause ain't that the truth. "There's always going to be someone creeping around trying to use you to get to Edward. Or to Carlisle and the boys. Or even to Ed.

"They're the good guys," she adds firmly. "Not everyone wants to believe that. Someone's always looking for dirt they'll never find. Just be careful okay?"

"Umm … okay." I have no idea what she's talking about. But I've been in here long enough, so I try and dismiss myself. "Thanks Esme, for the talk and for the clothes as well."

She waves me off. "It wasn't a big deal."

"To me it was."

"Let's not get too choked up about it though." She smirks, then claps her hands. "Now—go make me some money."

With a laugh, I tell her thank you again before rushing out to finish the rest of my shift.

When everything is all cleaned up, I sit at the bar and play with my phone—deciding it's best to wait inside for Edward this time.

"Do you need a ride home, Bella?"

I look over and smile at Leah. It seems like the nice her is back. "No thanks, hun. Edward should be here soon."

"Want me to wait with you?"

"Sure, if you want."

She pulls down a stool from atop the bar and sets it on the floor before leaning on it. "So how's everything else? How's the apartment search and all that?"

"Oh." I blanch a little at the question, but it's more in surprise. It's only been a week and a few days—_should_ I be looking for one already? Does Edward expect me to be? Admittedly, I haven't even thought about it. I mean . . . shit, I haven't even told Rose yet. I don't want to ruin her vacation. "Umm … I guess it's going okay." I lie.

"That's good." She hums in approval. "If you need any help, I'll be glad to go around with you. Also, I have that spare room."

"Thanks, Leah," I say sincerely. I feel I should keep this as a viable option just in case I wear out my welcome.

"So, where's your car anyway?"

I shrug. "It finally hit the shit. I'm looking for another one … but—my credit's pretty bad."

Leah cringes. "So you're kinda solely dependent on Edward right now, huh?"

"No, I'm not."

"You're living in his house and getting around when he drives you. I'm not saying it to be a bitch, I'm just pointing out the truth."

Before I can get any more defensive—even though I would have not one single argument—my phone chimes with Edward's assigned text tone. "That's Edward. He's outside," I say a little shortly.

She nods sadly. "I didn't mean to upset you, Bella."

"You didn't," I reassure her. "But you gave me some things to think about. Thanks."

We walk out in silence and I smile when I see Edward standing by his car. When he sees me his face brightens as he opens my car door for me. I don't say much on my way to the house because what Leah says leaves me reeling a little. I know she didn't mean it harshly—at least I don't think—but …

"You're quiet."

I turn my face away from staring out the window to look at him. "I'm fine, just tired."

With a cocked eyebrow, he looks over at me and laughs. "I'm old enough to know that's bullshit. But I'll let you think I believe you."

I forgo pointing out that he just contradicted himself.

The rest of the week goes by smooth, lest for one night when Edward ends up being kind of late picking me up from work. I don't spaz out because I know things happen and it's not fair to get mad at someone who's doing you a favor. But that doesn't stop me from letting him know making me wait with no preemptive phone call or text warning isn't cool. He doesn't get any that night either.

After that—I make a point to be a little more diligent in my car search. I look over apartment listings as well and call around for information, but I know I can't make any major decisions until Rose comes back. The landlord called me with some information for her but said he legally couldn't divulge it because I technically wasn't on the lease. I'm hoping it's in regards to some money from renter's insurance.

Edward doesn't say much about my car and apartment inquiries, and pretty much lets me do my thing. The only time we have a major conversation about it, is when he tries comforting me after I get turned away from one of those "Buy Here Pay Here" places. Because my check is below regular minimum wage, they decline giving me a car. Stating they can't use what I make in 'tips' as income until I do my taxes. It's the beginning of October—taxes aren't for months. They couldn't care less.

It messes with me a little bit, but I try not to let it show and accept the rides with a smile on my face.

On Sunday morning, I wake up to find Edward in the kitchen with a secretive but silly and excited grin on his face. "I made breakfast." He plops some pancakes on a plate. "And then I have a surprise for you."

"Another surprise?" I tap my ear.

His smile widens as he nods and I give him one in return.

Since I moved into Edward's room—and we actually had the girl talk—I've come home or woken up to flowers, candy, and the other day, a few tins of 'Café Bustelo'—the coffee his aunt uses. Yesterday, he nonchalantly handed me a pair of princess cut diamond earrings. I don't know if he tried playing it off like it wasn't a big deal so I wouldn't react to it, but I beamed at him. Especially when he told me the reason was he noticed I'd been spending all my money trying to buy and replace things for Rose but hadn't seen me buy any jewelry for myself. Sweet guy, and clearly perceptive, too. He got some good loving for that one.

"Is it a bracelet?" I ask later on, as he leads me to the elevator with a hand over my eyes.

"Wouldn't I give that to you in the house?"

I shrug. "Maybe you're trying to throw me off?"

"No."

"You know I don't need the wining and dining stuff, right?"

"Shush."

I giggle. "Okay, okay."

Not trusting he won't let me walk into anything, I follow along with him with my hands sticking out in the air. When we stop, my hands are still hanging in the air and I'm not touching or holding anything.

"Where are we?"

"Okay." He drops his hands, and steps behind me to place them on my shoulder. "Open."

I blink a few times and knit my eyebrows together as I try and figure it out. We're standing in the parking garage and next to his car. "Are we going somewhere?" I smile.

He shakes his head and reaches into his pocket. Then I hear the car next to his beep twice before he pulls out a car alarm and drops it into my hand. I look at it, look at him, the car and back at him.

"You got me a car," I deadpan.

"Umm … yes?" His smile falls a little.

"You bought me a car."

He gulps. "I did."

"Edward … you bought me a _car!_"

"I-I thought you'd—"

He's cut off by a squeal and me turning around and jumping into his arms. He stumbles a little by my sudden attack but chuckles. "Oh, my God." I flutter kisses all over his face chanting 'thank you' over and over. "You're crazy." I squeeze my arms around him. Then jump down only to scream again. "Let's go for a drive!"

With a relieved and face-splitting smile, he bounds over to the passenger side. I bounce in my seat and run my hands over the leather of the dashboard and steering wheel. When I look at the odometer, I see it has all of twelve miles on it and gulp—this is a brand spanking new car.

"It's a Ford Taurus," he starts explaining. "I honest to God wasn't sure what you were gonna say, so I figured I'd just go with a new version of what you already had."

"How much is the payment on this thing?" I ask, pulling out of the spot and starting to circle around the garage. Wow—it drives smooth.

"Payment?"

I look over and see he has his head leaning to the side with a confused look on his face. "Yeah, you know, like a car note? The amount you pay each month so the repo guy—"

"No, I got that part. Why would I give you a car with a payment?"

I slow down and pull into a random spot a few floors down to give him my full attention. "You mean you bought it outright?"

"Of course." He scoffs.

"Edward. How the heck am I supposed to pay you back?"

"Pay me back?"

So now he's a parrot. I frown. "Yeah, for the car."

"Bella—" he shakes his head slowly "—I don't understand. Why would I _give_ you something but expect you to pay me back? That's not how gifts work."

I purse my lips. I see what he's saying but . . . "A car is different."

"How's that?"

"It's just . . . I don't know. Such a big gift—an _expensive _gift."

"You like those earrings, right?" He narrows his eyes. I nod my head but narrow mine as well. "Well, they cost a lot fucking more than this—" he taps the dash "—and you didn't seem to mind them."

My narrowed eyes widen a little, making him mutter, "I didn't say that. Fuck!" He scrubs his hands over his face. "Sweetheart—"

"Edward, listen," I place a hand on his arm, "I love my earrings. And I love that you got me this car. It's just—"

"No. You loved that I got you this car about five minutes ago. Now . . ." he shrugs.

That's not it at all. "Five minutes ago I kinda thought—assumed rather, you got the car to help me out."

"I did."

"No, I mean like helped me get it 'cause my credit is shit, but the rest would be on me. Kinda like an equal venture thing."

"So you like that I got you a car, just not that I bought you a car."

I cringe. He's angry and the way he's wording it, makes it sound stupid. Maybe it is, but it does partially explain how I feel. So I nod slowly. "It would make me feel like less of a moocher, yeah. I mean … I've been living with you for two weeks and known you for like two months. Already it's like I'm dependent on you and . . ." And I shut my mouth when I see the look on his face. I was wrong—he wasn't angry before, but now he is. Nostrils flaring, jaw clenching—he's got the pissed look down pat.

"Who put that shit in your head?" he asks lowly.

_Leah._ "No one."

"Someone better had 'cause I sure as hell haven't made you feel that way. And please, I'm not fucking stupid enough to be with a chick who was about my money. I can sniff them from a mile away. Whoever you're getting advice from—stop. 'Cause they're not helping you."

I don't have a rebuttal for his little rant. In truth, I'm fucking ecstatic about the car, who wouldn't be? I'm sure some girls would give their right tit for someone to do something like this for them. And maybe, just maybe, a guy or two out there might give their left nut.

I think back to my talk I had with Rosalie—when I thought about how I would act being put in her same situation. And I realize my initial reaction classifies me as a bit of a hypocrite, but Jesus—this is a car. That's not an everyday gift, you know. But still, good God, the look on his face has me feeling like the same ungrateful bitch I accused Rose of being. And though I still feel a little uneasy taking such an _elaborate_ gift, I know I have to make this right because I want—no I need—to believe his heart is in the right place in giving this to me.

"I really like the color," I comment after a while. It's red—my favorite.

"Uh huh."

"And this leather." I hum, running my fingers over the space of his head rest. "I love the new car smell."

"Yup."

I purse my lips, goading him clearly isn't working here. "Edward." I sigh, and squeeze his hand. "Can you look at me please?" He does, but the pissed feral face has morphed into blankness and indifference. I almost miss the anger. "Thank you," I whisper. "For the car, for everything you've done for me the past couple weeks. It means more to me than I can explain. Really."

"Then what's the problem?"

I shrug. "Guess I'm just not used to being taken care of like this. I mean … really—a car." I smile, it's teasing but I hope he can see my gratitude behind it. "What am I supposed to get you for Christmas, when you buy me a car? It's not like I can get you a tie now." He snorts at my absurdity, but I don't care because it's followed by a smile. "Thank you," I say again.

"So you like it? For real?"

"You don't even have to ask."

"Good." He beams.

I lean over and give him a sweet kiss, repeating my thanks again. He deserves more, but it's daylight and anyone can walk by. Later though, oh it's going to be on as we christen those back seats.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." He smiles against my lips—completely unaware of my plans for him. But then he rears his head back.

"What?"

"What you said before, about not being used to getting taken care of?" He drops his smile and looks me right in the eyes. The severity behind his gaze is intense. "You better get used to it, Bella, because it's what I do best."

* * *

**It's what he does best . . . *sigh* gotta thank VC-girl for that add on! :-P**

**So, yeah! I love gifts like the next girl, but I imagine if I ever got a car from someone I'd be in shock, too! After I shit myself of course!**

**Tidbit: Bella offering "weird guy" a dance... yup that's the nature of the beast and also how I made some of my bread and butter. When I knew a guy was balling outta control, I had my 'go to' chicks I would get to give him a dance before anyone could sink their claws into him... and then he would tip me AND they would tip me! Team work makes the dream work, ya'll! LOL.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Leave me your thoughts :-)**

**~Lo**

If you wanna chitty-chat: FB: Lolo Eight-Four FB Group: Fics on the Lolo(84) Twitter: Lolosofocused


	11. Chapter 11

**Umm . . . yeah. A/N: Couples fight sometimes. Just sayin' ;-)**

**And my angels: VC Girl and AJasperForMe, Oh! I'd be lost without ya'll sometimes! No joke!**

* * *

_Good and bad luck are synonyms,  
in the great majority of instances,  
for good and bad judgment_

_-_ Pierre Elliott Trudeau quotes

**_=11=_**

After moving past the initial shock of getting a brand new car without preamble—I turn into an obnoxious squealing mess and annoy the living shit out of Edward with my new obsession with my 'baby'.

He takes me to the car dealership so I can sign all the appropriate paperwork for the title to be in my name alone, and then I spend the rest of the day researching its features online.

The next day I take it to get detailed—even though it's brand new—and go to Auto Zone and buy more accessories for it than it needs. Like zebra-patterned covers for the seat and steering wheel.

I think it gives it character and personality but Edward teases me relentlessly. However, when I strike back with the reminder that I'm the one who'll have to wear shorts and subject my poor ass to the aftermath of leather seats baking under the Florida sun—I win.

I'm giddy driving into work, but grimace a little when Leah and I pull in at the same time.

"Nice car."

"Thanks." I give her a smile, but don't offer any information on the matter of how the car came to be. I want to be happy about it, therefore my plan is to avoid any conversation that might result in someone trying to throw salt on my joy. When I see her giving it the side eye—I know she wants to ask, but she doesn't. Thankfully.

However, Jacob isn't as gracious with the non-pestering. "So he went with the Ford," he grumbles to me later in the night.

"I like what he chose." I defend Edward, keeping my tone light and teasing.

He grants me a massive eye roll. "He said you would."

"Well . . . he knows me."

"Did you freak out?"

"No." I scoff. His lips purse sideways, and he gives me a skeptical look. "Okay, maybe at first, but I was just in shock is all."

"Most women like the getting pampered thing."

"I like it," I say quickly—too quickly. Resulting in another skeptical look. "Fine," I sigh. "I don't love it, but I do like it. It's just . . . a lot to get used to, ya know?"

"What's a lot to get used to?" He smirks like he knows what I'm about to say.

Funny 'cause I don't. I shrug. "Just . . . being a kept woman I guess."

And apparently I'm a stand-up comedian. Jake throws his head back and barks out a laugh so loud and obnoxious a few people look over at us. I pinch his arm. "Ouch." He chuckles. "Bella—" his laughing still hasn't died down. "You work as a waitress in a strip club."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"No listen." Still laughing. "You work at a club and you're driving a Ford. That hardly makes you kept or whatever you call it. Personally—" he lays a hand on his chest "—I don't know any man, not guy, but man, who doesn't like spoiling his girl. I buy Angie shit all the time." He shrugs. "Maybe I don't buy her expensive diamonds, but I do buy her jewelry and flowers, too. Do you think less of her?" I shake my head—of course not. "So don't let insecurity or doubt, or _pride_ . . ." I get a pointed look ". . . make you taint something that's supposed to be a sign of affection."

I give him a sincere, but sheepish grin at the same time. Jacob's a good friend to Edward. They've known each other for about ten years—from what I've gathered through talks—and is the closest thing to a best friend he has. I know they speak often—and he's even come over once for dinner— so it seems my new sweetheart must have complained a little to his friend. Or enlisted him to do some digging on my true feelings.

"I was caught off guard at first," I reiterate. "But it's all good now."

"Good." He smiles and winks before turning serious. "You're important to him. He just wants you to be happy and well, of course to be important to you, too." And with a glint in his eyes, he scoffs and shakes his head, mumbling, "Kept woman ... please. Where'd you get those jeans, anyway? Old Navy?"

"Screw you," I sniff and giggle. "I got them from H&M, thank you."

"Ooooh—big shot!"

Laughing, I give him a slight punch in the arm, but in truth, I'm grateful for the message behind his teasing.

When I get home, I find Edward lying in bed—asleep— with a bottle of juice and some cold meds next to the nightstand.

With caution, I place a hand on his forehead and frown when I notice it's warm to the touch.

"Hey," he croaks out—eyes opening slowly. The glazed look behind them, mixed with red, makes the abnormal color stand out even more.

"You're sick."

Sitting up slowly and rubbing at his eyes, he tells me I'm wrong. "I'm just . . . I don't feel good is all."

Which I know translates as he's sick but trying to pretend he's not. It takes all my strength not to roll my eyes. _Men! _Had he not been sick, he would be moaning and groaning around the house as if he'd been infected with the Ebola virus. I point to the bed, leaving no room for argument. "Lie back down."

He complies with a small pout, asking in an exaggerated, pained voice if I'm still going to lay with him even though he 'doesn't feel good'. Being the dutiful girlfriend that I am—sometimes—I coddle him with an, "of course", praying that if he starts coughing in the middle of the night, he has enough sense not to breathe on me.

Two days later, I wish I had kept my distance.

"I'm dying," I groan out, before blowing my nose.

"You're not dying," chuckles the now healthy Edward. The bed dips down, and I sigh when his cool hand presses against my cheek. "You should call in."

I shake my head in the negative because I already called in yesterday. And I need all the hours I can get. Rose is coming home soon—in a couple days, in fact— and I really need to start getting my shit in order. "I have a few hours 'til work. Some Tylenol should be enough to get me through now and then."

His silence tells me he wants to argue, but mercifully he doesn't.

.

.

.

"You, you and you," Esme calls out, pointing to me, Aro, and Maggie. "I want you as far away from here as possible. 'Cause if I get sick . . ." she doesn't continue, instead she brings her thumb to trace an invisible line over her neck.

I really should have stayed home, but being a stubborn jackass, I convinced myself I could get through a few hours at work.

However, lacking the strength to argue, I nod to Esme and wish everyone a goodnight.

I didn't park far, but with the flu or cold—whatever I'm sick with—corrupting my body, it takes what feels like a lifetime to get to my car. When I lean against it, letting the feeling of the cold metal, soothe my forehead, I jump when I hear a few sneezes and coughs walk by me.

"Goodnight, Bella," Aro says around the hacking. It's the gross wet cough.

I start bidding him a goodnight as well, until I see him walking out of the parking lot. "Hey! Where's your car?" I walk toward him.

He shrugs. "I got dropped off today because I wasn't up to driving."

"Want a ride home?"

He cringes. "It's like a thirty-minute drive from here."

"And you were gonna walk?" My voice comes out has a scratchy shriek.

"My friend lives down the street. I was going to go wait there."

"Oh, okay. Well, if you wanted a ride home instead—I wouldn't mind."

"If you're sure?"

"I am." I smile but then start coughing myself as Aro joins in with a few sneezes and sniffles of his own.

"We're a pair, huh."

"I know, right?" I nod, then hand him the key, giggling. "Do you mind driving? That way I can rest a bit to drive back home?"

He agrees readily, having wanted to drive my new car since he saw it days ago.

With the distance to Aro's house from the club, the almost ten minutes I wait with him outside for someone to let him in, and driving back home—it's almost an hour later.

And after the day I had at work—getting home to a nice bath is my top priority. Snuggling up to Edward comes in a close second. So when I walk into the house and see him sitting in a chair, legs wide, and still dressed but with his shirt open and a scowl on his face—the air reeking with a 'shit's about to go down' type of tension— my shoulders immediately hunch over. I'm too sick do deal with any bullshit right now.

"What's this?" I wave a hand at his stance.

"Where were you?"

Up goes my left eyebrow. Is he serious right now? "The moon," I deadpan and roll my eyes, walking further into the house.

"Always a smartass," he mumbles. "You think this is a joke?"

"You mean me walking in after a long night at work, only for you to grill me about where I was? No, actually—I don't see a joke in there at all."

"Tell me . . ." He leans back in his chair, licking his lips and nodding his head slowly. "When I gave you that car, was there somewhere in our discussion where I said I got it so you can let other dudes drive it around?"

"Excuse me?" My hands almost go to my chest in shock, but ball up into fists mid-air. "Last time I checked, you didn't get me the car with any stipulations involved." I pause and look around. Did he just . . . "What—I need your permission to drive a friend home?"

"A friend." He snorts, mumbling something under his breath that sounds very familiar to 'ungrateful' or 'deceitful' or some other 'ful' word that only serves to piss me off.

My mouth falls open and my eyes widen, my hand is practically shaking now. "You sure you don't wanna rethink those last couple words?"

"Why should I," he snaps—finally standing up. "Why the fuck should I when I show up at the club to pick you up, thinking you're sick, only to watch you giggling and shit with some jackass before letting him drive you off in the car _I _bought you. Really, Bella . . ." He shakes his head and chuckles a little bitterly, choosing not to continue his train of thought. "I don't want anyone else driving that car." He points to me. "And I sure as fuck don't want you having other guys in there, either."

I laugh.

It comes out sounding maniacal.

This is fucking priceless.

I knew it was all too good to be true.

"You know what?" I lift the key chain and pull the car key off. If I had somewhere else to go right now, I would hand him back the house key as well, but I don't. I'm pissed not stupid. So instead, after unlinking the car key, I throw it to him. He moves his head, catching it in the palm of his hand before it connects with an eye. Okay, so maybe I threw it _at_ him instead of _to_ him. Whatever. "Since the car comes with so many fucking rules—keep it."

"I don't want your car, it's—"

"—Oh no . . ." I cut him off. "It's _your_ car. I'm pretty sure we just established that."

"How? Because I told you I didn't like seeing some other guy driving it?"

"No, because you started throwing bullshit at me about it. I'd rather deal with taxi's and the tri-rail from now on. Thanks."

"Don't be ridiculous." He tries to hand me back the key, but I step away from him. "I really love how mature you're being right now," he chastises me.

"Because accusing me of . . . whatever the fuck you're accusing me of is really mature of you and all."

"God. You're such a god damn hypocrite, you know that? If you turned this around, you'd be just as pissed as me. Probably more."

"Oh, no I wouldn't— because I, unlike you, believe in a little thing called trust."

"This has nothing to do with trust, and everything to do with respect. That stunt—letting that kid drive your car— the epitome of disrespect."

"I wasn't feeling good," I say it slowly. "And I had no idea where I was going. I offered him to drive because I wanted to rest my eyes. I shouldn't be explaining all this to you anyway. Would you be acting like this if it was Jake?"

"Yes."

"Bullshit."

With his arms crossed over his chest, he purses his lips before sighing. "If you came home one day and found Rosalie in one of my shirts, would you be okay with that?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, let's say you bought me a shirt." He grins—it's smug with a mix if sinister behind it. "But one day you come home and find a 'friend' of mine walking around in it. How would you feel then?"

"What friend?" I grit out.

"See! It was just an example and you're pissed."

"Because a shirt and a car share the same level of intimacy, right?" I challenge. "And by the way, using the idea of rubbing one of your whores in my face isn't the way to win this argument."

"One of my whores? Wow." He starts a slow clap. "And the truth about how you feel about me comes out."

"Likewise."

Things come to a complete standstill at that point; both of us clearly fuming at the other. Being that this is our first fight, I don't know how Edward works. But me—in a relationship—I've been known to fight dirty. So to avoid escalating the situation any further, I tell him I'm going to bed.

"Alone," I add, making my way to the guest room.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Nope. Not at all. The last thing I want to do is disrespect you in _your_ home, so I'll take my leave, if that's okay."

"You are such a . . ." He wisely grits his teeth to keep from continuing.

I lie in bed later, feeling pissed. I fucking hate fighting with people—its takes too much energy out of me.

When I hear a tentative knock on the door, I roll over and face the opposite wall. I guess it was too much to assume Edward was going to let me be for the night.

"Sweetheart, can I please come in?"

I roll my eyes at him calling me sweetheart right now, and answer, "It's your house."

"Baby—please."

And 'baby' gets an eye roll _and_ a snort. "The door's not locked, so . . ."

I don't hear the creak of the door or his steps, but I feel the bed dip down.

"I'm sorry—"

"Save it."

He sighs. "I don't wanna go to bed fighting."

"Fighting? Who's fighting?" The fighting's done in my eyes. We've moved to the 'give me my fucking space' zone now.

"Is it okay if I stay in here with you?"

"It's your house."

"Would you stop fucking saying that? You know I wasn't trying to throw the car in your face like that."

"Weren't you?" I finally turn around, narrowing my eyes to the point a lone, angry tear falls. "'Cause that's exactly what it felt like."

He frowns when he sees my face and reaches out to touch me but I flinch, causing him to snap his hand back.

"I'm sorry."

"I know." And I'll accept his apology once I've calmed down. But . . . "Sorry doesn't magically erase the fact you made me feel like shit. For that, I need space—away from you. So please respect that." And get the fuck out, I add in my head.

When I see him not making a move to leave, I huff and get up, grabbing a pillow with me.

"Where are you going? Why are you leaving?"

Really? "I just asked for space you're clearly not giving me. You wanna sleep in here—have at it. I'll take the couch."

"No wait." He grabs my wrist to pull me back.

"I swear to God if you don't let me go . . ." He holds on for a few more seconds, as if to challenge me, before dropping his hands and raising both in the air in surrender.

"Alright," he relents with a nod. "I'll leave you alone. If you change your mind, I'll be in my room."

I don't change my mind, but I sure as shit barely sleep that night either.

Physically, I feel better the next morning—thanks to all the cold meds I took. But I hate that I fought with Edward. Not enough to say anything to him about it, though. I'm still pissed and reeling. So if I say anything to him right now, it'll only serve to make things worse.

We basically avoid each other for the next two days, and when it comes time for work, I call a taxi. I don't care if he thinks I'm being stubborn or immature. The car, right now, represents nothing good and I want as far away from it as possible.

Sensing I must be in a foul mood from the minute I walk through the door, mostly everyone keeps their distance from me at work. I notice Jacob frown in my direction a few times. And I make note to his seeming to read a note at one point—one I assume is from Edward—but he never gives it to me and I don't ask.

Arriving home that night, I pause at the door and brace myself. I obviously have no way of predicting what I might come home to, and if it's anything like the other night—I know I'll lose my fucking mind.

Thankfully, I'm greeted with a calm looking Edward laying on the couch with the TV's volume on low.

"Hey." He sits up slowly, gauging my reaction. "How was work?"

"Fine."

"How are you feeling today?"

"Good."

"Are you still mad at me?"

"Nope."

"So can we talk?" He smiles, but it's forced. "And maybe you give me more than one word answers?"

"Sure, why not." That's three.

"Bella," he sighs. "Come on."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Do you want a bath?"

I blanch. Is he asking me for sex while we're still—kinda—fighting, or telling me I stink. "Umm . . ."

"I drew you a bath," he says quietly, nodding to the guest bathroom. "In there."

With a bit of confusion, I make my way to the bathroom. When I see the scene Edward created, my lips twitch into a smile and I slowly shake my head. He sure knows how to end an argument.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, bringing his arms around my waist from behind. I rest my hands on his, melting into his embrace as I take in the tub filled with water, covered in rose petals, and candles littered around. "This is what you should have come home to."

Turning in his arms, I bring my hands to lay on his chest. "That was an unnecessary fight, Edward. Maybe you haven't known me very long, but what you do know should be enough to know I would never go out of my way to make you feel a certain way. Especially not disrespected."

"I know that." He tightens his hold on me. "But when I saw you with Sparrow—"

"Aro."

"Whatever the little shit's name is," he huffs, while I let out a soft chuckle. "When I saw you with him ... I just—I don't know. It's been a really long time since I've felt anything near jealousy. It's not a feeling I enjoy."

"I get that—trust me." I'm the most jealous person I know. Well, next to Edward. "But you took it out on _me_. That's . . ." I shake my head. "You don't get to talk to me like that. Ever."

"I'm—" He snaps his mouth shut, before whispering, "Lemme show you how sorry I am."

"By all means." I smile and wave a hand in the air. He doesn't need to know I'm already caving inside. So who am I to stop potential groveling to make up for the assholery?

Giving me a shy smirk, mixed with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, he takes a step back, and reaches for the hem of my shirt. I raise my hands in the air, allowing him to remove it slowly from my body. My jeans follow, and I hold onto his shoulder to balance myself as he bends down to remove my socks.

My panties come off next.

Then when he stands up, so does my bra.

"Come," he whispers, pulling me toward the bathtub. He taps his hands over the water a couple times before looking back at me. "It's still warm. I know you like it really hot, but—"

"It's fine." I smile at him. Really? As if I can complain about something as trivial as the water temperature right now. Stepping in, I let out a moan at the feel of the water. "This feels nice." I look at him after settling in completely and leaning my head against the wall. "Are you coming in?"

He shakes his head. "No, this is you—for you. I'll—" he nods his head towards the door "—I'll wait for you 'til you're done."

I'm a mix of disappointed at him not joining me, but giddy to be able to enjoy my bath alone. I try my best to make it quick, but there's just something about someone running it for you that makes the bath water feel as though it comes from some magical spring.

After soaking 'til I'm close to wrinkled, then rinsing off all the suds in the shower, I wrap myself up in the large towel laid out for me, and tip toe into my room.

I find Edward lying on his back, hands behind his head, ankles crossed, and a pair of black sleep pants on.

"You look comfy."

His eyes snap to the doorway. "Hey."

"Hey yourself."

"How was your bath?"

I hum and walk further into the room, settling on the bed next to him. "Relaxing." I lean over and place a kiss on his lips. Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby." He sits up against the headboard, his face showing that he's waiting for something.

I smile. "What?"

"I thought you'd wanna talk or something."

Oh. "Didn't we just do that?"

"Not really." He heaves a breath. "Listen, I want you to know something."

Moving to sit in front of him, with our bodies facing each other, I tuck my legs underneath me and rest my hands in his outstretched ones. "Okay?"

"I'm not—last night . . . I'm not a controlling guy. But," he shakes his head, "you really need to be more cautious, Bella." I frown, how am I 'Bella' again? "I mean, okay . . . I really didn't like seeing you with him. But in general, you really shouldn't be driving random guys home, alone, at night. It's really not safe. And that above all, is what made me maddest."

Choosing to call him out on his bullshit, I ask, as sincerely as possible, "So were you jealous or worried? 'Cause just a little bit ago you said—"

"Oh no, I was jealous." He says it so simply, I can't help but let out a giggle. "But at the same time, it took you almost an hour to get home after I saw you drive off, so obviously I was worried something happened to you. You can't be so trusting of people like you seem to be." My eyes narrow slightly and on their own accord. Did he and Esme practice this speech or something? "What?"

"Nothing." I don't even wanna go there. "I'm sorry I worried you." My voice comes out more sternly than I planned. "But you weren't acting worried last night. You came at me like a jealous, controlling husband. And no—just no."

"That wasn't my intention. I freaked the fuck out is all."

"But why?" By now, I'm pretty sure my tone has turned to a bit of a whine, but I really don't get what set him off the way it did. "You have to see I'm not interested in anyone but you. I mean . . . look around. I'm living with you."

He snorts and mutters, "Not by choice."

Whoa. "What's that mean?"

"Really?" He gives me a look. "You're only here 'cause someone—" he clears his throat and shakes his head "—I can pretend all I want, but you're here for one reason. Your apartment burned and you had nowhere else to go. I don't know. . ." he shrugs ". . . I guess Sparrow reminded me that you might bounce once you have other choices."

Leaning over, I place my palm against his cheek. "I'm here 'cause I wanna be." He doesn't meet my eyes—he doesn't believe me. "Edward—don't do that. Don't do the insecure, doubting me thing. I am here because I want to be. Period."

Realizing he still doesn't seem to believe what I'm saying, I do the only thing I can think to do to convince him. Bringing my lips to press against his, I whisper out, "I want you," hoping he gets the double meaning in my words.

Bringing my hands to cup the back of his neck, I throw everything I can into this kiss. "I want you," I repeat, taking him with me as I lie back. My towel falls open then, and I smile when I feel the tips of his fingers graze over my nipple. With him in a hovering position over me, I try to strengthen my grip to bring him to me, but he shakes his head and slides my hands away—telling me to just 'lie down'.

A quick bend of his head has his tongue and mouth licking and sucking at my chest, his hands trailing up and down my stomach. I whimper and squirm, eager for his hands to probe and move against my clit. But it doesn't. "I'll touch you when you tell me to," he teases, smiling against the span of skin between my tits. "I'll do whatever you tell me to."

Fuck. Umm . . . "Touch me." Simple enough, right?

"Touch you where, baby?" I snake my hand down to show him, but his eyes twinkle as he looks at me and shakes his head. "Say it. Where?" I worry my bottom lip, and give him a pleading look, causing his eyes to soften a little. "I told you." He leans down, placing soft kisses against my lips. "It's just me."

Oh what the hell, right? Internally shrugging at myself, I grab his hands, bringing two of my fingers over his before pressing them against my clit. "Here," I whimper. "My pussy—I want you to fuck me with your fingers."

Doing me one better, Edward sits backs and pushes my legs apart. "How about I fuck you with my tongue instead?"

Yes, please!

I hiss and throw my head back when his tongue makes contact with my wet flesh, licking and flicking at me before pulling my lips apart to move against my clit. "Oh, my God." I grab a handful of his hair, flattening my feet against the bed to move against his face. "Fuck . . . fuck." He moans and nods his head—urging me to continue my chant I assume. It's not long before I'm writhing in response to the ministrations of his tongue.

Feeling the tension building in my stomach, the tingles starting to spread throughout my body, I release my hold on his locks, dropping my body to the bed to allow my spasms to take over.

Panting and breathless, I open one eye when I feel him squeeze my thighs to get my attention. "Yeah?"

He smirks. "You're gonna ride me this time."

After giving him a second to retrieve and put on a condom, I place a hand against his chest to coax him to lie down on his back. With a nervous smile, I hover above him—then slowly, very slowly, sink myself down on him, letting out a few pained whimpers.

"Take your time, love."

I move my head up and down, resting the palms of my hands on either side of his head as I continue lowering down on him little by little. His face contorts in what looks like a mix of pleasure and pain as I move over him. Bouncing, hips twisting, I do the best I can to give him all I've got.

I could understand, in this position—the one that seems to be in control—the need to hear him. Though, so not the time to compare him to my ex, this is different. With Edward it's different. Every time.

No longer content with the quiet moans of pleasure, I start baiting him just as he does me. "That feel good?"

"Fuck yeah—I fucking love your pussy, sweetheart."

Okay, maybe I don't need to do that much baiting.

With his hands gripped tightly at my waist, Edward takes over—moving me over his cock roughly. Telling me over and over how fucking perfect my pussy feels around his dick before we both fall over the edge.

I wake up the next morning to an empty bed and a note and pink rose on my pillow.

_Baby,_

_*I Had A Meeting. Then  
I'm Going To Emmett's Club To Meet Him.  
Call Me When You Wake Up.  
Also, I Left The Key To Your Car.*_

I roll my eyes at the mention of the car, but a smile forms on my face when I see my cell phone lit with a notification I have a new text message.

That smile hits the road when I see it's not from Edward.

**_Hey, Bella we made it back. But—what the fuck happened to our apartment?—Rose_**

Shit.

* * *

**Sooo ... the car fight? *sigh* I've actually had it before, TWICE, with two different guys. Smh! How was I to know it was that big a deal, ya know! Well, that is until it happened to me and I may or may not have reported my car stolen when I found out my ex was letting a girl drive me car! But . . . that doesn't make me crazy or anything, right? :-D**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Muah**

**~Lo**


	12. Chapter 12

***leg humps* to Vancouver-Canuck-Girl and A Jasperforme! They're the wind beneath my wings! LOL**

* * *

_A good idea is about ten percent implementation and hard work,  
and luck is 90 percent._  
—Guy Kawasaki

**=12=**

The first few days of Rose being back are spent with her not speaking to me.

She's not mad at me for the fire—so she says—but she makes it clear she's beyond livid that I didn't tell her when it happened; over three weeks ago now.

My reasoning of not wanting to ruin her vacation doesn't fly because she says it was worse to come home only to be surprised at the fact she longer _had_ a home.

She had a point.

So, being in the same predicament as me—as for being homeless—she ends up having to stay with Emmett. Something she makes clear she was looking forward to not having to do for a while. She needed a vacation from him to recuperate from all the time spent with him on vacation, apparently. And I think that's what bothers her the most—being put in a position where she _needs_ Emmett.

I do my best to give her space, but after about a week of strained text conversations, I call her up and ask if she wants to come over Edward's so we can talk.

Her answer of, "I guess," doesn't leave me feeling hopeful that the day will go smoothly. When she shows up at the house, we're both reluctant at first.

"Hey."

"Hi."

I wave her inside. "Come in."

"Nice place," she remarks at our surroundings. I shrug, not sure if she's being facetious or not.

"It's not mine, so—"

Tilting her head to the side, she gives me a sad smile and cuts me off. "—Yeah, I heard you guys got into a fight."

"How?"

"Emmett puts his foot in his mouth on a regular basis. He felt the need to brag that his uncle did the same." She rolls her eyes. "Not sure what that was supposed to do other than make me think they both have the tendency to be jackasses."

"You have no idea," I laugh, launching into the tale about my fight with Edward, from my perspective at least.

After I'm finished, Rose stares at me wide-eyed for a few seconds. "Wow, what an asshole."

I snort. "Yeah."

But then she sighs. "You know you were wrong for that, though, right?"

"For getting mad at him?"

"Oh, no. He's lucky you didn't try and stick your foot up his ass for the way he talked to you. But …" she wrinkles her nose. "I'd probably fuck Emmett's shit up if I ever saw some bitch driving his car. Whether I bought it or not is irrelevant. At the very least," she chuckles, "I would've slashed his tires."

Her words, has my spine straightening, and my heart racing.

_I would've slashed his tires._

_Slashed his tires._

_If some bitch was driving his car . . ._

"Hey you okay?"

I shake my head and look at her. "Huh?"

"You went somewhere just now. What's wrong?"

I give her the abridged version of coming out of work that day and finding my tires flat, all while coming to a few conclusions of what might have happened. "Honestly, I was so distracted with the fire and all of that, I almost forgot about it. I mean . . . I spoke to my mom and she told me not to think much of it, but—" I drop my voice to a whisper "—you don't think Edward has some like crazy stalker chick, who tried to slash my tires 'cause she saw him driving my car do you?"

In a way, I think I expect her to pass off my thoughts as a joke, or at the very least tease me like my mother did. But she doesn't. Her face goes blank for a second, almost like she's seen a ghost or something.

"What?"

"Nothing." She shakes her head and chuckles, but it's awkward, strained. "Just me being silly. Hey, so wanna show me around?"

"Sure," I say reluctantly, wondering if she realizes I see right through her attempted subject change. I show her the two guestrooms, point to the one I use the most, as well as the bathroom. Then when we get to the other side of the condo, I wave a hand at the closed door of the master bedroom. "That's Edward's room—our room, I guess."

She nods, knowing I'm not going to open it. "Where is Edward anyway?"

"A meeting he said."

"So is Emmett," she says softly, giving me a strange look. "We've been back a week and it's like he has one every day. I didn't realize that before, 'cause I wasn't living with him."

"Same with Edward." I chuckle. Then we both look at each other. "Huh . . ."

"Yeah, I know right."

I chew on my bottom lip, my eyes twinkling a little. "Did I tell you he carries a knife around in his back pocket?"

"Really?"

"Yeah." I nod then give her a play by play of the night with Sam. "And a gun in his glove compartment, too."

"You know what . . . Emmett carries around a blade, too. But I never thought much of it."

"Edward's a little cryptic about certain things."

"I keep feeling like Em's keeping a secret from me."

"You don't think—"

"They couldn't be—"

We're silent for a second before we both start cracking up at ourselves.

"Wow with our imaginations, huh?" I snicker. "Anyway, you hungry?"

"Starved, wanna go get something?"

I nod. "Yeah, just let me go get my—"

Before I can say 'purse', Edward comes walking in, on his phone and dressed in pants, dress shirt, and tie. When he asks the person on the phone about whether or not a 'shipment' arrived, I look over at Rosalie at the same time she does me, and we both start giggling. Earning a confused smile from Edward. I shake my head, and wave a hand in the air at him.

"Yeah, lemme call you back," he says before hanging up and widening his smile in my direction. "What's funny, sweetheart?"

"Nothing." I try and control my snickers, and walk up to him. "Hey." I tip my head back and pucker my mouth for a kiss. He bends down, fluttering a few kisses against my lips.

"How was your morning?"

"Uneventful." I shrug. "Yours?"

"Eventful. Going out?"

"Yeah, we're about to go get something to eat. Want me to bring you back something?"

"Or maybe you wanna come?" I whip around at Rose, shocked. "Just a thought," she says a little teasingly. "I could call Em. Since your _meeting_ is done and all, he might be hungry, too."

Edward doesn't answer at first, looking back and forth between me and Rose. "You girls okay?"

"We're fine," I answer letting out a breath in an attempt to control the laughs that wanna slip through. "I think we're just giddy about being back together."

"If you say so."

"I do."

"We do."

"Riigggghhhtt. So, lunch—where do you ladies wanna go?"

**((LUCK))**

Somehow, meeting Emmett for lunch, turns into meeting Carlise, Esme, Alice and Jasper as well.

Edward's always a touchy feely person, but it gets heightened when he's in a playful mood. So at lunch, he's constantly kissing at my cheek, and neck, whispering random shit in my ear, or tickling me. Much to Jasper and Emmett's horror, because Carlisle is the same way with Esme.

"Unc—"

"Pop, really?"

"What?" Both guys detach themselves to look up.

While Emmett does look a little more teasing, Jasper looks like he might vomit shaking his head slowly, in a silent plea. "People are trying to eat, here."

"Oh, lighten up," Carlisle says. "At least your grandfather's not here; even I …" he shudders.

"Which is how I feel about you two." Jasper points to him and Edward.

"What's wrong, young buck? Scared your girl's gonna run when she sees how you _should_ be treating her?"

"Jasper treats me just fine, thank you." Alice leans over and gives him a kiss on her cheek.

Edward shrugs, throwing his arm around me.

"Is it too early to have a drink?" Esme asks, throwing me a look that says 'you're welcome'.

Rose and I shrug, and answer, "It's five o'clock somewhere."

When our waitress comes over, I notice she's nice—well not nice but tolerant—with everyone but me.

Still I smile and try to be polite. "Can I have your berry coolada?"

She cocks an eyebrow. "ID."

"Oh yeah." I lean over to fish through my bag. I'm used to being carded, but Esme speaks up.

"You didn't card the rest of us."

"Yes, well I know the rest of you are of age."

"It's okay," I say to Esme calmly. Then hand our waitress my ID. "Here."

She looks at it, then me, then back at my ID for a few more seconds before handing it back to me with a forced smile.

"Someone's working hard at not getting a tip," Alice sings once she walks away. I chuckle and shake my head.

"It's no big deal—I'm used to it."

Our waitress isn't completely pleasant the rest of our time there, but she's competent enough that we don't wait hours for our food. In a whole, her service alone would probably have me not coming back, but the food is good so I call it a wash. I assume we all feel the same way, but when she brings out our check, Edward surprises me.

"Is Marcus in?" She widens her eyes at his question; causing him to practically bark at her. "Marcus, the _owner_, is he in or not?" With a gulp, she nods her head—not finding her voice. Edward's lips twitch up in a sinister smile. "Great. If you could tell him Edward Cullen is asking for him, that'd be greatly appreciated." When she doesn't move, he snarls, "Now."

She dashes off, and while Rose and I look at each other in confusion, everyone else at the table looks on with glee.

Not even three minutes later a middle-aged—but extremely handsome— man comes strolling out of the back; his face showing one of annoyance, almost panic, but turns into joy when he spots our table.

"Carlisle, Edward, boys," he greets them with a head nod, even though he goes straight for Esme.

They exchange kisses on the cheek, before he does the same with Alice then turns his gaze to me and Rose. "And who are these lovely ladies?"

When Emmett and Edward both stand up, Rosalie and I exchange a look and do the same.

"This is my girlfriend Rosalie," Emmett introduces her. Marcus gives her a kiss on each cheek.

Then Edward snakes his arm around my waist. "And this is my Isabella."

"Pleasure." He kisses the back of my hand. I let out a giggle—Edward sure does hang around a bunch of smooth motherfuckers, let me tell you. "How was your lunch?" Marcus looks around the table at everyone. We all murmur our appreciation for the menu, but Edward—yet again—speaks up.

"Your waitress was a piece of shit. Especially to Bella."

"Edward," I hiss. She really wasn't, she just wasn't overly friendly.

Marcus frowns. "I'll have to talk to her." Then he clears his throat, his face showing he's jumping on a whole new train of thought. "Maria called me a little while ago about Carlos."

"Oh God." Edward groans. "What now?"

"Should we . . ." Marcus waves to the back, cutting his eyes slowly between me and the other girls.

"I'll be right back, sweetheart," he coos at me, kissing my cheek, before addressing Marcus. "Have someone bring them some desert." And with that the guys all get up and walk to the back.

Really?

Rose and I share a look then; it's part not impressed mixed with what the fuck.

Alice and Esme, though, continue on unfazed, looking through the menu and discussing the double chocolate pie or some shit.

"Is this normal behavior?" Rose asks them.

"What?" Esme looks confused.

"Uh . . . them getting up in the middle of lunch to discuss . . . whatever the hell they just went back there to discuss."

Esme shrugs. "Not really." Then looks back at Alice and points to her menu. "How about this one?"

"Okay, then what about them carrying around guns and knives?"

"What about it?" This time it's Alice who answers. "I have one."

"What?" And that's me. "Why?"

"Just do." She shrugs. "My dad was a cop—" she rolls her eyes "—not a good one, either. Someone was always messing with us so he made sure me and my brother stayed strapped."

Right . . . 'cause that's normal.

Once we leave the restaurant, my demeanor visibly changes. Not toward Edward but in general that the thoughts flowing through my mind—no matter how silly—need some answering. Sooner rather than later.

Edward takes notice and brings it up as soon as we're in the car.

"You mad at me, baby?" He reaches over and squeezes my thigh.

"What, no. Why do you think that?"

"Maybe 'cause you haven't said a word to me since we left the restaurant."

I smile at him, and in a teasing manner ask, "Didn't we just pull away from the parking lot?"

"Not now, Bella."

I sigh. "I'm not mad at you, babe. I have no reason to be . . . it's just . . ."

"Yes?"

"I . . . ummm . . . have a few questions—a few things on my mind."

"Alright . . . so talk to me then."

"You're gonna get mad."

"Tell me anyway."

Damn. I was really hoping he was going to say, 'no I won't.'

Tracing my fingers over the leather of the glove compartment, I take a few breaths. "Can I see it?"

"See what?"

"It. You know—your gun."

"No."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I'm still not convinced you're not mad at me about something, and I'd rather not get shot." He laughs.

"Have you been shot before?"

"Nooo." He drags out the words. "You tryna ask me something?"

"It's just—"

"You've been acting funny all day, and honestly . . ." he trails off, flaring his nostrils.

I inhale through my nose a few times, myself, knowing I need to broach my thoughts carefully. It's a pretty big assumption, accusation, I want to ask him. If I'm wrong it could backfire, and if I'm right—well it could backfire, too. "So," I start, "What's the deal with Carlos?" I got with instead.

"What's the deal with him?"

"Edward."

He lets out a breath. "Carlos is a knuckle-head. He's getting himself in trouble and the repercussions are messing with the family."

_"The family_," I repeat.

"Yeah. You know like his mom, my aunt. Marcus is her cousin and they're worried."

"Is that all?"

"Yeaaahhh. What else would there be?"

I shrug and stay silent the rest of the way home. There's a lot of things there could be, I'm just hoping I'm wrong.

* * *

**Muah!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Either site will work for this chap! Let's just hope for the best *wink***

******Song: "It's Yours" J. Holiday**

* * *

_The only sure thing about luck is that it will change. _

~Wilson Mizner

**=13=**

_"When are you coming home for a visit?"_

"Umm . . . soon-ish." Never. "How's work?"

_"Work's okay. Mr. Jenks is still Mr. Jenks, you know."_

I grumble because yes, I do know. My mother's boss is probably the neediest asshole I've ever met. Which says a lot.

Working as his 'personal secretary' for almost twenty years, my mother has learned to deal with his temper and nasty attitude. But for the rest of us . . . we give him a wide berth at all times.

_"I really want to meet this fella of yours soon."_

"Fella? Mom, really?"

_"Well, you told me he's much, much older than you. Calling him your boyfriend doesn't seem fitting."_

"I guess you're right." I pause, waiting to see if she's going to expand on her thought—maybe provide some more unsolicited advice, but she doesn't.

With hope, I wonder if that means she's exhausted herself with the subject. Because when I first told her Edward and I had an eleven year age difference, she was nothing short of pissed. Throwing out the accusation that a man of his age could only be looking at me as a play thing and to be careful.

It stung like a motherfucker, and I avoided her calls for days after that.

She apologized, thankfully and after a few ignored phone calls, admitted to me she judged him too quickly and it wasn't fair for her to project her own bad experience with an older man on me.

Though I wanted nothing more than to tell her it wasn't a good enough excuse, it was Edward who talked me into speaking to her. Stating that her short-lived relationship with my father—a man who was almost twice her age and refused to commit to her, or claim me—gives her a little validity in her being cautious about him.

Whatever. It still hurt. But I'm just glad she seems to be over it now.

"So, yeah. I'll call you soon, okay?" I rush her off the phone with a sigh.

"Your mom?"

I look up at Edward from my spot on the couch, as he throws himself on it, resting his head in my lap.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

He shrugs. "You have this . . . sigh, you do whenever you hang up with her. Which is a lot more often these days."

I don't have an answer to his observation, not sure myself why she's been so on it with keeping in touch with me.

"Anyway, let's not worry about her."

Edward hums, closes his eyes, and turn his head in my hands. I giggle and run my hands through his hair, knowing that's what he's asking.

"So we're all definitely gonna be at the club tonight," he states, matter-of-factly. "And we'll be hanging out on the floor, mostly."

"Uh huh," I hum, knowing where he's going with this again.

He sighs, "Bella—"

"Babe, I'm working tonight, okay?"

Even though there isn't an 'official' Halloween event going on at the club—Esme's reason being the girls are always in costumes anyway—I, along with Chilly, Maggie, and Rose— who's took on the job of waitressing and bartending since she came back from vacation—all decide to dress up a little anyway. In sexy, retro waitress costumes.

Edward makes no bones about hating it. And the outfit's so tame, I have no idea why. Though he says it has nothing to do with that, I don't believe him.

And with him not giving me a legit reason, and me already knowing Maggie'll bail at one point during the night, no guarantee Leah will show up, and truthfully, Rosalie's work ethic now being a little lackluster, I feel like it'll be shitty to not work, only to probably end up showing up at the club anyway. It's the last thing I need to do, with more people finding out I'm the 'boss's' girlfriend.

I repeat this all to him, for the umpteenth time. But you know how guys only hear what they want to.

"Right . . . so if those girls can take the night, why can't you?"

"And then who'll be left?"

He shrugs. "Not your problem."

"Yes, my problem."

"Actually, it'll be my problem, and Esme's. Not yours. And I wanna give you the night off."

"You not telling me what the big deal is, doesn't help the situation."

Sitting up, he runs his hands down the side of his face.

"Halloween weekend is just —" he shakes his head "—it's always a fucked up night. I don't know what it is about people and the way they act on this night. Dudes and the way they just . . ." he trails off, making a face of disgust.

I don't know what to tell him. Mainly 'cause I have no clue what he wants me to say, or what he's trying to say himself. Men saying and doing rude shit has become par for the course with my job. I'm almost immune to it.

So it makes me wonder. "Is there someone or specific people you don't want me around tonight?"

"What? No!"

I shrug. "Just asking." I don't know what else makes sense.

"Just . . . be careful tonight, okay?"

"Aren't I always?"

He snorts but doesn't answer.

_Ass._

**((LUCK))**

There's not all that much difference than any other night, other than the fact it's jam packed.

"The fuck?"

I look over at Rose and nod. "I know!" I shout over the music. "I didn't expect this many people."

She shakes her head. "I'm talking about that shit." She nods her head behind my shoulder. When I turn around, I don't know if I should laugh or gape.

Edward, and all the guy's seats are set up side-by-side. They're stoic and looking on at everyone. But Emmett and Jasper are dressed up like 1920's gangsters or some shit like that.

"It's like he's feeding my insanity."

I shake my head. "Let it go—let's not . . . let's just not."

"Mmmhh." She doesn't say anything else. Choosing instead to glare at every female in the vicinity she thinks might be looking at her man.

"Just go over there." I roll my eyes. "You'll be useless to me anyway, distracted."

With a determined nod, she stalks over there, leaving me, Leah and Chilly to fend for ourselves.

Doing my best to focus on working, and not spilling drinks, I avert my eyes and attention whenever any of the girls so much as walk in Edward's line of sight. He's doing a good job of not giving them more attention than necessary, but it doesn't make it any less difficult to fight the urge to walk up to him and shove my tongue down his throat.

Stake my claim and all that.

But I don't, and I won't.

I might be a jealous bitch, but I know how to tamp that shit down. And not take it out on the wrong person—like some people that shall remain nameless.

When I see said nameless person walking over to me as I hang out by the bar, I put on a fake smile. He doesn't need to know my blood's boiling a little inside.

"Hey, how's the night going?"

"Good." I smile up at him. "Having fun?"

He cocks an eyebrow at me. "Fix the glare in your eyes and I might believe you."

I bat my eyelashes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure." He chuckles, pinching my hips. "How about you? Having fun?"

"A blast." I am actually, you know when I'm not looking in his direction.

"Take a break?"

"Not yet."

"I mean now. Take a break now." He grabs my hands, linking our fingers together. "My dad's asking for you," I hear him grumble.

I snicker a little to myself. I met the elder Ed once before and calling him a 'flirt' doesn't cover it. Edward had a scowl on his face during our entire conversation.

"Bella." Ed senior greets me with a wink when I walk up to all the guys. Emmett and Jasper give me kisses on the cheek. But for some reason that doesn't bother Edward at all. Just talking to his dad, though . . . I shake my head.

When one of the guys with them asks me to get him a drink, I fear for his life with the look Edward gives him.

"Don't you see she's on a fucking break," he snaps. "Get it yourself. She's not here to serve you."

"Babe." I rest my hand on his arm and slowly shake my head. What the hell.

He mumbles out a, 'Sorry', ignoring the strange looks we all send his way.

"Oookaay." Break over. After giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, I haul ass and keep my distance from him and his friends.

As I'm packing things up at the end of the night, I notice Edward and Jacob having a bit of a heated discussion. My eyebrows crinkle—I don't think I've ever seen or heard them fighting before.

When they both look over and see me watching them, Jacob walks away as if they weren't just in the middle of a conversation.

I'm too tired to analyze their weirdness.

"Ready?" Edward saunters up to me.

"For what?"

"To go home . . . Dad's taking my car—so I can ride home with you."

As we make our way to my car, I stop when I hear a couple arguing around the back of the building.

Walking closer, I recognize Chilly's voice. "Let it go. We were obviously wrong and I'm tired." I tilt my head, to try and listen better, but don't hear the guy's response before she replies again. "Right, 'cause she clearly looks like a big bad drug dealer, or a mule. Get off it." More muffled responses. "Okay, I can't deny she looks like Emily but . . ."

Ignoring Edward's protest, I make my way closer to them. "Everything okay?" I glare when I notice the person she's arguing with is creepy guy.

"Oh, Bella." Chilly looks at me wide-eyed. "Yeah, everything's fine."

"You sure?"

"We'll talk later," creepy guy snaps, walking off.

"You alright?" I whisper again after he leaves.

She nods. "I'm fine, some guys are just—" she growls "—you know?"

"Baby, you good?"

Turning to look at Edward, I nod, then look back at Chilly to see if she agrees.

"Yeah," she offers him a small smile, "all's good."

He doesn't really acknowledge or respond to her, before looking back at me. "You ready?"

Rude. I give him a what the fuck look. What the hell is with him tonight? "Uh . . . I'll be right there."

Without another word, he makes his way to the car.

"Sorry about that," I tell her. "It's been a weird night for us."

"Please, don't even apologize." She laughs. "It's cool." Reaching over for a hug, I tell her I'll see her Monday at work. "Have a good night, Bella."

Her goodbye makes me realize something as she starts heading off.

"Hey, Chilly?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think I know your real name."

"Oh." She giggles, giving me what I can only describe as a secretive grin. "Victoria."

"Well. Good night, Victoria." I bow, dramatically saying her name in a horrendous accent.

The drive home is a comfortable silent one, once Edward assures me nothing's wrong with him and he didn't realize he was being impolite.

As soon as we get inside the condo and I bend down to take off my shoes, Edward takes that quick moment to pinch my ass. I squeal and stand up quickly, turning to look at him.

I'm met with him waggling his eyebrows at me.

"I do like that outfit on you."

"Yeah?" I do a little twirl, making a snap decision about something. "Why don't you sit?" I purr at him, pushing him back by his chest. "And relax."

"What are you about to do?"

I shrug and flip some of my hair over my shoulder. "Remember when we met, you asked me if I danced?" His eyes widen in understanding. "Sit."

**EPOV**

I've had lap dances before, obviously, but the idea of getting one right now from Bella has my dick hard in an instant.

"Sit," she purrs out when I fail to comply to her demand the first time. I nod and listen, plopping my ass down on the couch.

"Song?"

Shaking my head and licking my lips at the same time, I say, "Whatever song you want, baby. Whatever you want."

Noticing her gulp a few times, I realize she must be nervous, but I'll be fucking damned if I say anything about it.

One, I'm too fucking excited to watch what she has in store for me. Two, she _knows_ she doesn't have to do anything with or for me she doesn't want to. And three, I've told her time and fucking time again she needs to relax and let go. It's just me.

She fumbles with my iPod and docking system for a second before I hear the low voice of J. Holiday sing, _"All I wanna do is please you . . ."_

Good choice.

I sit back against the couch and watch her body slowly moving. Her shoulders, her hips, her hands moving all over herself.

Her mouth is moving, maybe she's singing the words, but I can't focus on that right now. I'm trying to keep my cool or else I'll jump off the couch and bend her over.

Bella's dance goes on for about a minute or so before I reach my hand out, palm up hoping she'll take it. She already teased my ass once, 'not to touch the dancer'. She's such a fucking smartass, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Even though I know she does it out of nervousness at times, or as a bit of a defense mechanism, it's one of the things I love about her.

Willingly, Bella takes my hand and I pull her to me, using my other hand to grab the back of her thigh.

When she's positioned to a straddling position over my lap, she stops dancing, so I reach around and grab a handful of her ass. "Don't stop," I whisper, grabbing at the top of her little shirt to free her tits.

With a bite of her lips, Bella reaches behind me and resting her hands on the back of the couch she starts grinding and rocking her hips over me.

"Motherfuck," I rasp out around a nipple.

She smiles at my outburst.

"You like that?" I wink, and hiss when she pushes down on me again. "You like knowing what you do to me?"

After a few more wiggles and shit, my dick practically rips through the seams of my pants. "Ease up a bit, baby." I reach for my zipper. "I gotta—" She bats my hands away before I can finish my sentence.

I lift my hips up, letting her pull my pants down, but before she can, I wrap my hands around my dick. It's fucking aching from being so hard and just in need for someone's hands on it. When she sinks down to her knees in front of me, I frown and pinch her chin, shaking my head. "No. Come up here instead."

For some reason, her on her knees in front of me like that never sits well with me.

I lean back and sideways, lifting my right foot up on the couch to allow her space to settle in between my thighs.

When Bella swipes the tip of her tongue over the head of my cock, then wraps her mouth around me, my vision practically blurs.

Her mouth.

Hot.

Wet.

"Fuck." I can't . . . I snake my hands through her hair, lifting my hips up as slowly as possible, fucking her mouth gently. She bobs her head a few times, takes my dick out of her mouth to pump me with her hands, and repeats the process.

After a few times, I figure out her mouth must be getting tired. So I sit us up, cupping the back of her neck to bring her mouth to mine.

I snake my hands down to the front of her skirt, easing my hand under the fabric to finger at her clit and lips. She's so fucking wet, the only thing I can do is moan at the feeling of her skin and at the sound of her hiss.

"Do you like knowing what you do to me, Edward?"

Well . . . fuck me. I smile at Bella repeating my words from before. Quickly sliding two fingers inside her, bring my knuckles flush against her, pumping in and out over and over, with more force than necessary, I'm sure. When I feel her pussy squeezing my fingers, I ask her if she wants to come on my hand, with my mouth or my dick.

"Your dick, always your dick."

Her dirty mouth fucking does it to me right then. I grab her hips, and scooting backwards, I bring her over my cock, impaling her.

"Ah!" She lets out a loud scream, causing me to panic a little.

"Fuck, did I hurt you?"

She whimpers out a 'no', throwing an arm over the back of the couch and the other around my shoulders. Her legs wrap around my lower back as I start bucking my hips up into her.

We're both quiet for once, staring into each other's eyes as I notice the same song playing again.

The repetition of the words, "It's yours", and "hold my heart don't break it", bring down the urgency a little.

My pace slows as I bend to lie on my back from our sitting position, letting Bella take over as I just stare at her.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

She picks up my slowed speed, dropping her head to my shoulder. "Just fuck me, please," she whispers out thickly. The change of her voice catches me off guard, but I say nothing on it, bringing my arm around her back, and my feet flat against the cushions to allow leverage to 'fuck' her as she requested.

"Do it hard."

I nod, grabbing her ass again, but this time tighter to move her roughly over me, letting the tips of my fingers slide around to rub at her entrance.

"Oh . . ."

"Uh huh." I coax her, when I feel the trembling starting.

"Oh . . ."

"Scream. Scream when you come. Lemme hear you."

"I'm . . . FUCK!" She tightens the hold of her arm resting behind my neck. "Shit, shit, shit."

I smack her ass a few times, urging her to let go, telling her I can feel her so close, can feel her pussy clamping around me already.

Biting down on my shoulder, she lets out a few growls and moans before her body goes completely rigid, shakes, and then sags against me.

Silently, I start rubbing her back, giving her a second to catch her breath. "You okay?" She nods, but doesn't answer. "Oh, yeah? Then look at me." When she doesn't, I squeeze her sides a little. "Sweetheart?"

"Yeah?" She chokes out.

Oh, fuck. I push her off me as gently as possible, my heart sinking when I notice tears brimming behind her eyes. "What the fuck? I mean . . . what's wrong?"

"Nothing." She gives me a smile, letting out a giggle that would be too fucking cute if it weren't for the tear that fell down her cheek.

There's a lot I can take— a lot I've _taken—_without so much as feeling an ounce of pain. For fucks sake, I walked in on my ex-wife balls deep with my best friend. I've lived through my mother dying. Faced the woman my father cheated on, who decided she would treat me like shit before leaving him. Watched my friends get caught up in some utter bullshit, selling their souls to the devil. The list goes on. But this, seeing my girl crying—for any reason—is what I imagine taking a bullet would feel like.

For a second, I even let my mind wander, wondering if maybe she knows I'm keeping something from her. Maybe she's figured it out, and she's so hurt or pissed she doesn't know what else to do besides cry before ripping me a new one.

Which is why I'm lost when she murmurs out a, "thank you".

"I'm sorry?"

"Just . . . thank you. For everything. I—I don't think I've said it enough."

"You don't have to."

"Yes I do. You're . . . you've helped me and I'm thankful. You need to know that. Always."

"I know, baby." I wrap my arms around her, silently begging her not to fall apart. 'Cause my mind won't let me rest now. I can see it, in her eyes, and hopefully I'm right that Bella's falling for me.

I've already fallen for her. Almost since day one—that won't change.

But something tells me, I feel it deep in my gut, the minute she knows I've been keeping a secret, keeping her in the dark, things are going to go bad for us.

But how do you tell your girl her life might be in danger?

* * *

**I know right? Your eyes totally just played tricks on you just now, huh? 'Cause I for one am not posting anything explicit on this site! *shakes head rapidly*LOL ... But, no, really, I just didn't see a way to edit it that didn't take away from the chap. Especially since I stuck a random EPOV in there! Hope you liked it? Lemme know!**

**If anything; you know where else to find it! *wink***

**Thanks for reading**

**~Lo**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Cliffie Alert**

**Sorry for double alerts ... uploaded a rough cut at first by accident ... yeah!**

* * *

_Good luck has its storms._  
_-George Lucas_

**=14=**

"And then you just … started crying?"

With a groan of embarrassment, I nod at Rosalie's question then thump my head down on the bar.

"Pretty much."

"Huh, interesting," she muses."I don't think I've ever cried before—during sex I mean. I've come close, don't get me wrong. Like, the other night, Emmett was just … I don't know what he was doing, but it was just so good and—"

"Would you please?" I look up at her pleadingly. "Can we focus on the one out of the two of us who _did_ cry?"

"Of course," she answers with a softer, less teasing voice. "And we can also focus on the why. Which is what I'm more interested in."

"Ugh… he was just looking at me like, you know—and it was just so … gah!" I drop my head back down. "Regardless, I'm pretty sure I've freaked him the fuck out now."

"You really think that's why he's been … off?"

"What other reason could there be?"

Ever since the crying debacle last week—which I blame one hundred percent on Edward for the way he was looking at me—he's been noticeably distant. Okay, not noticeably—not to anyone else that is, but I've noticed. Or maybe I should say guarded is how he's been.

Every touch, every smile and caress has seemed calculated—almost forced, and since it's started almost immediately following the crying session, I have no other choice than to think that's the reason.

I didn't mean to bust out in tears, it just … happened.

It was just sooooo good, you know. And then I looked at him, like really looked at him and he had this gleam behind his eyes. It was intense, scary as hell and the emotions behind it had me emotional, too. I tried to calm it down—insisted, even, that he get to actually fucking me instead of the love making that was clearly going on, but it was too late. The floodgates were already upon me.

But now, things are weird. No, actually, they suck.

We haven't even had sex since and for us—other than during that friendly time of the month— going a whole week is unheard of.

"We have an incoming at nine o'clock." Rose pokes me in my side.

I jump and snap my head up. "What?"

With wild eye gestures and grimaces, I realize she's trying to be slick and guide my attention to someone or something. My eyes narrow when I notice creepy guy calling me over.

Oh, how I'm not in the mood for him tonight.

"Be back," I mumble to her. Then doing my best to put on a smile, I approach him. "Hey, what can I get for you tonight?" He looks at me expectantly, but doesn't answer. "Umm … well drinks and drafts are buy one get one right now," I hedge. "Happy hour's still going on."

Slowly nodding, he hums out a, "Yeah, okay. Draft is fine. Surprise me."

"Coming right up."

When I make my way back to the bar, Rose is off talking to someone so I approach Leah. "Draft of … whatever your hand touches first."

"Okay, for who?"

"Creepy."

She whips her head around, almost dropping the glass in her hand. "Seems like he's coming around more and more these days, huh? Wonder what he wants."

I laugh. "The same thing every guy who comes here does, I guess."

"Yeah, but don't you notice he pretty much just lurks in the shadows and never really gets a dance. I mean, I don't really ever see him until you point him out."

"Huh." Now that she mentions it. "Maybe he's just low-key. Or hiding 'cause someone might recognize him and tell his wife." He wouldn't be the only one who comes all the time though they shouldn't.

"Who you guys talking about?" Chilly walks up. When I answer with a playful, 'your boyfriend' she almost chokes on her gum.

"I was definitely joking."

"No, no," she gasps out around a cough. "I know … just—" she shakes her head rapidly "—Umm, no. Just …" she shivers "… no."

"If you say so," I sing. "Pretty strong reaction for someone who's against the idea."

With a soft laugh, Leah hands me his drinks and I walk off throwing kissy noises to Chilly over my shoulder.

I'm shocked when I find him smiling in our direction because I don't think I've ever seen him smile like that before. He doesn't look scary when he does that, and dare I say appears more friendly.

"You should smile more often," I blurt out. Then when the smile completely falls, I sigh. "Do you wanna start a tab?" My question is more out of routine than formality because he almost always starts a tab, even on slow night like this.

"Not tonight."

"What?" Yeah, I'm shocked.

He chugs down a beer, and standing up, places some money in my hand. "Keep the change."

"Thanks," I mutter.

"Oh, and Bella?"

I look at him with pursed lips. "Yes?"

"You should really be careful the company you keep," he leans over, and whispers in my ear. "You seem like a really nice person, and I would hate for you to trust the wrong people."

"The wrong people like who?"

He doesn't answer, other than looking over my shoulder for a split second than back at me.

"Just people." And with that cryptic shit he saunters out of the club.

I shiver, and try to put his comments out of my head as I walk back to the girls. Only to be greeted by a Leah glare. I huff; the girl has multiple personality disorders, I swear.

"What did he say to you?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit."

"You know what?" I'm not anymore in the mood for her attitude than I was with having to deal with that guy. "Believe what you want," I snap and walk away.

As soon as I do, Jacob comes over to me with a worried expression on his face. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"I saw that guy talking to you and now you seem pretty upset."

"You're just as creepy as him with the way you watch me—just so you know."

"Well …" he breathes on his fingers and buffs them against his shirt. "I try."

"And you succeed my friend." I grin, glad he knows my comment was me only teasing.

I've gotten used to the fact Edward clearly has him as my watchdog. I found it annoying at first—still do, if I'm being real about it—but at the same time, I know he worries a lot and easily as far as how some of the guys—even regulars—act. If the roles were reversed, I don't know that I wouldn't have a friend keeping a watchful eye on him for me, too.

But that's only in the club. He knows better than to have Jacob, or anyone for that matter, following me around on a day to day. I draw the line there.

After reassuring Jacob I'm fine, he lets me be, but I could still feel him lurking from time to time.

And thankfully by the end of the night, Leah's mood seems to have returned to normal—for her—so when she calls me over, I head her way without hesitation.

"Jake's already gone, but someone left this for you."

I almost squeal as she hands me a familiar envelope, one I haven't received since me and Edward officially got together. I've gotten letters left for me around the house, but this is more special—especially with our distance, lately.

Plus, it's how things started, after all.

But when I flip the card open, my heart falls.

**I don't like to share.**

What. The. Fuck.

Tears of anger, confusion, and some humiliation pool at my eyes.

Why would Edward do this?

Barely able to focus on finishing up my end of shift duties, I head out and drive home like a bat out of hell.

Edward's not home when I get there, so I pretty much pace around the house like a caged rabbit until I hear the key at the door.

As soon as he is inside, I round on him.

"Why?"

His eyes widen. "Sweetheart, what—"

I step backward as he advances toward me. "Did you write this?" I throw the letter at him.

With narrowed eyes, and a crinkled forehead, he opens the letter. I see his mouth moving as he reads it, and for a second he glares at the paper before his faces morphs into indifference.

I guess I expected some sort of reaction. Him pleading to me that he didn't write it, that he would never be so callous in a letter, but he says nothing.

"Why would you write that to me? What's the point?"

"I didn't say I wrote this." He hands it back to me. "You're saying I did."

"And you're not denying it. It's not like I have anyone else writing me letters."

"So you think I wrote that?"

"Did you?"

"If I say no, will you believe me?"

I scream. It's not reals words, or barely even loud enough to cause alarm, but more of a noise just ripping through me in frustration.

"Did you write this, yes or no?"

"No."

"Did you have someone write it for you?"

"Why would I do that?"

And then the verbal diarrhea starts. "Why do you do half the things you do? Why is it you always have meetings with strange people at weird times. And you say shit like, 'did the shipment go through.' Or 'is he taken care of'?"

"I've never said that."

The scream escapes me again. "What kind of shit are you into, Edward, for real?"

"Are you trying to imply something?"

"No—no I'm not implying anything. This is me, asking you to help me make sense of certain things. You think I don't notice, you think I'm blind but I see shit, too."

"Yeah?" His face takes on that of a challenge as he slides his hands in his pockets. "And what do you see exactly? I'm intrigued."

I can't really explain the thought process of what any of this has to do with the creepy letter, but I've found in strang situations, picking at things is easier than falling appart.

So, I continue,"Why do you carry around a gun?""And a knife. And why do Emmett and Jasper do the same?"

"I thought I already told you it's for protection?" I scoff. "Take it how you want it." He shrugs. "But you'd be surprised how many people tried to get at us—rob us— in the past, thinking we just walk around with thousands of dollars in our pockets. A few years back, Em got jumped, pretty fucking bad one night. From that night on, we made sure it would never go down that way again if someone approached us."

Well, I feel like shit. "I didn't know that," I whisper.

"There's a lot of things you don't know. A lot of things it's best you just trust I have your back."

And I get mad again, feeling like he's almost insulting my intelligence.

"I might not have," I make gesture with my hands, "street cred or whatever the hell you call it. But, I'm not completely naïve, either. I watch TV, I've seen movies, and read books. I know all about, you know—organized crime and stuff. Drug trafficking and shit like that. If you're into any of that you need to tell me. Let me know what I'm getting or have gotten myself into. Maybe I'll feel better, more informed, for when assholes at the club tell me I need to be more careful who I surround myself with if I just knew the truth."

"You wouldn't be able to handle that kind of truth, trust me."

My mouth gapes. Was that just confirmation?

Then, to my utter shock—and more humiliation I might add—Edward starts laughing at me. And not just any laugh, either. He's bent down, arms around his waist, gasping for air.

I growl, and try to walk away but he grabs me, caging his arms around me from behind, still laughing. "Baby, stop. I'm sorry, just—" chuckles, chuckles, chuckles.

"Let me know when the jokes over."

"Sweetheart, come on." He turns me around and cradles my face in his hands. "I'm sorry, but that shit's funny. You're right, you watch _way_ too much TV."

"Thanks."

"Listen." He pulls me over to the couch. "I'm not gonna sit here and tell you for certain my grandfather or my pops for that matter did everything the legit way when they were coming up. But trust me when I tell you that me, Car, and the boys—have always kept our noses and our pockets clean. On my life, I can promise you that, okay?"

"And the other stuff?"

"Nothing like that. I swear."

"Then," I start chewing on my inner cheek, "this guy, at the club, he said—"

"The blond guy?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Cause I've—we've— been watching him for a little while now." He smiles, but it's an odd smile. "He likes you."

"So, you think that's why he said what he said?"

With a shrug, Edward stands up, making it clear the conversation is just about over at this point. "He probably has a million reasons why he said what he did. All of which I plan on finding out."

Though a part of me wants to say something like, 'I'm sure he meant nothing by it, just let it go.' I know it'll fall on deaf ears, so I keep it to myself.

Later on in the night, though, my mind still catching up to certain things, and not being able to sleep until I get some confirmation, I shake Edward awake.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"You've written me before, though, right?" I realized I never flat out asked, just assumed. And I proved well enough earlier what happens when one assumes.

He chuckles, bringing his arm around my middle. "Yeah, that was me."

"And the flowers—the roses, they were from you, right?"

"What roses?"

"I got roses after one of our first dates. They were left at the house. The apartment."

I feel his entire body stiffen. "You hate roses."

Yeah, I know. "So … if you didn't write the letter, or leave the flowers—then who did?"

"I don't know, but I'm gonna find out."

**((LUCK))**

With no more letters or cryptic comments from Creepster, Edward and I don't really bring that night up again.

But as the weeks pass and November fades into December, things at work become . . . strange, for lack of a better word. And it's not something I can put into words—not something I can explain. It's the vibe, the 'company' I guess you can say. New girls come in and out, as usual, but also new bouncers start. More than I deem necessary, but what do I know?

Though something leaves me uneasy about it, I try not to question it too much, and focus on upcoming Christmas plans. Or lack thereof.

For Thanksgiving, we all descended on Aunt Maria's house, so I'm hoping we're just going to do a quiet night at home this time.

I've clearly not gone anywhere, and Rose and I have stopped lying to ourselves about moving out of the guy's houses, so I feel like we need it—Just the two of us, or four of us, to celebrate together, to reconnect.

Because, somehow, Rose and I haven't been spending as much time together as before. And though things with Edward and I aren't worse, they sure don't feel any better than they did after the night of my striptease.

So I'm hoping, beyond hope, that my proposition for us to host something at the house is well received.

Living here a few months now, is one thing but it doesn't change the fact that this is Edward's house. I may refer to it as our home to people but the fact remains if he were to say no to a Christmas party or dinner, I'd have to let it go. I might not be happy about it, but I wouldn't push it either.

"So . . ." I fidget a little, approaching Edward on the couch.

His focus is on whatever paper is in his lap, and he doesn't look up, when he answers, "Mmhh?"

"Umm—never mind."

"Not so fast," I hear him say as I try and make a run for it. Slowly turning around, I give him a sheepish smile. "What's up?"

"I was thinking . . ."

"Okay?"

And I chicken out again. "Never mind." But his long ass arms reach out and grab me back to him.

"Bella," he says my name slowly.

"Yes?" I smile.

Popping a kiss on my nose, he asks, "What's on your mind?"

"Umm … Christmas is in a couple weeks."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"And I was just wondering what you normally do?"

"Umm …" he hums and tilts his head to the side. "I don't know—it's different every year. Last year we chilled at my dad's. The year before that, Car's maybe? Why?"

"Well … I was thinking, _hoping,_ you know that we'd do something? Here?"

"What, like a party?"

"If that's what you want," I offer with a smile. "A dinner, a party, a dinner party, whichever. But I wanna do something here for sure. What do you think?"

Waiting the two seconds for him to answer feels excruciating for some reason. But when his face lights up into a grin I breathe a sigh.

"Sounds good, sweetheart. But, you know you don't have to ask me right? This is your home now, too."

I pause and look at him. The gleam in his eye is back, so to avoid any more water works I peck a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth and excuse myself. "I got some planning to do!"

I'm all excited about it until a couple mornings' later when I realize I'm more than overwhelmed.

"Edward, who are all these people?" I ask, looking at the list he handed me. "And why are Maria and Carlos on here twice?"

"'Cause it's not the same ones. And all those people are people I have to invite if we're having a party."

"Have to or want to?"

"Oh, no I definitely have to. If I invite one, I have to invite all."

My shoulders slump a little. The realization of my non-domestic side hitting me like a freight train. "I don't think I have the strength to cook for all these people." I glare at the list of almost seventy.

"Well, we'll hire someone, or ask people to pot luck. Don't stress yourself out." When I don't answer, he sighs and pulls me to stand up to wrap his arms around me. "What's got you stressing?"

"Dunno," I mutter against his chest. Just that I love you and I want to show you how much-even though I'm freaking out about it. I'm feeling like I need to be doing more, and you've been weird and I'm scared that...

"Come back to me," he snickers.

"I just want to do something nice for you. For us, but for you, too."

"I wake up next to you every day, and come home to your smile. Well, when you're not pissed that is. What more can you do for me?"

Deep breaths, bitch. Deep breaths. You will not get emotional over his sweet words. You will not … "Ah, fuck." I drop my head when my bottom lip starts quivering.

"Alright. Come lay down with me." He guides me to our room, curling me to his side on the bed. "You gotta talk to me—what's been going on with you lately?"

"Me?" I crane my neck up to look at him. "Nothing. What's been going on with _you_?" He sighs—several times—but doesn't respond. "Edward?"

"I have a lot on my mind," he says simply, flatly. "Let's just leave it as that."

"Would you let me just leave it at that?" No answer. Silence. Crickets. Nothing. "Awesome."

"Hey." Dishing back the quiet game, I raise my eyebrows to him in response, but say nothing. "It's like you're always up for a fight." He chuckles.

"Or, it's like I'm not up for the fact you're clearly hanging on to something. Going through something, and don't feel like you can confide in me."

As if I'm not feeling insecure enough with him being all weird with the sexing now a days. Let's add on not wanting to tell me what's wrong with him to the plate.

"It has nothing to do with not wanting to confide in you," he says after several long minutes of us laying there with no words spoke between us. "It's … really I just don't wanna worry you, burden you, until I'm sure about things is all."

"Things with us?"

"No," he rushes out. "Is that what you're thinking?" I shrug, almost not wanting to admit it. "Baby." He tilts my chin up, and I almost tense, realizing even that little action has become scarce these days. "I promise to tell you what's going on soon, but it has nothing to do with you and me. Okay?"

I give him a terse nod, but say nothing else as I lie back down into his side. While a part of me believes him-or wants to believe him-the other just knows he's lying. Whatever's bothering him might not have anything to do with our relationship. But it sure as hell as something to do with me.

The next morning, light kisses on my cheek wake me up. With a smile, I turn my neck to place a kiss on Edward's lips, croaking out, "Good morning."

"Morning, love." He smiles, handing me something-an eveleope.

"What's this?"

"I have a couple people to meet today, I'll probably be gone most of the day."

"Okay?"

"But, I think we should do something tonight. Dinner maybe?"

"Okay?" My smile widens, I know there's more.

"And we should probably get a tree and all that good shit, too. If we had one I would've been able to put this under there." He taps the paper in my hand.

"What is it?"

"One of your gifts. Nothing, big just a gift certificate to the spa. You've been stressed-you need a good massage."

I squeal because I've never had a legit massage before. "This is great, babe, thanks! Oh, you think they'll have some hot guy massage me."

"Funny," he growls.

"I thought so."

"Anyway." He pops a kiss on my forehead. "You have to call and set a time, but they should be expecting you. Be good."

"Yeah, yeah."

After Edward leaves, I sleep or a little bit longer, before forcing myself awake and to the shower. Making sure to shave off very single hair I find in preperation for stranger's hand that'll be rubbing up on me later.

Halfway through, my peacefulness is interrupted by pounding on the door.

I grumble, when I hear Jacob's voice.

With water still dripping down my body, and one eye squinted trying to protect it from soap, I open the door with a scowl.

"Oh, sorry." He grimaces, setting a box down on the floor. "Found this by the door."

"That's why you were trying to break it down?"

"No. Edward was supposed to call you. He left some papers here, and wanted me to get them for him."

"I was in the shower." I wave at myself. "So I wouldn't have heard the phone. Do you know where they are? Whatever you're looking for?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Then you don't need me for anything right?"

"Nope."

With a nod, I start walking away when I hear the phone actually ring. "That's probably Edward," I call out to him, through the door. "You should get it, and let him now you're here and you got your stuff."

I don't wait to hear his response, before locking myself in the bathroom to finish off my shower and wash the shampoo leaking in my eyes.

Sometime later, I'm still handling my business when I hear another damn knock on the door.

Annoyed that Jacob not only ruined what was supposed to be some of my personal time, again, I take my time to get dressed then fling the door open ready to rip him a new asshole.

Only it's not him at the door.

It's Alice.

Behind her stands Rose—she's holding a bat. And in between me and Alice—is the barrel of the gun she has pointing at my head.

I don't know what to say, or what to do.

So with wide eyes, I throw both hands up in the air.

"I didn't do it!"

* * *

***ducks for cover***

**Love you all of you for reading! Sheri, and Bridgette what can I say? :-D**

**Muah**

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**


	15. Chapter 15

**Some know I'm on a bit of a break trying to juggle some life issues... Other's don't. But either way, thank you for your patience. I can only promise to do the best I can in updating and hope you stick around. **

**Thanks you reading, for your reviews, for rec'ing and just all around awesomeness! And I know without the support of some girls (VC-girl, AJasperfor me, Kimberly to name a few) ... well, I don't know what I'd be doing with my writing, LOL, but they make me better all around! **

**Happy St. Patty's day! This weeks quote felt fitting! **

**Now ... Happy reading! :-D**

* * *

_"May good luck be your friend in whatever you do and may trouble be always a stranger to you."_

_-Irish Blessing_

**=15=**

With my hands still raised in the air, and my life slowly flashing before my eyes, I say nothing to Alice as she stands there with Rosalie behind her—both poised to attack.

"Bella." Alice finally speaks, slow and deliberate. "Is there anyone inside the house?"

I shake my head slowly, still too scared to respond.

At that, her eyes narrow. "Are you sure?"

"Uh huh."

"Then, can I come in?"

What I want to say is: 'Lady, you have a gun pointed at my head. You can do whatever the hell you want.' But I don't, and just nod again, stepping to the side to allow her room.

Hands up, gun still drawn, Alice inches her way in slowly making her way through the bedrooms.

"Okay," I whisper to Rosalie, dropping my hands. "What the fuck?"

She shrugs, pulling me with her to step out in the hall. "I'll explain in a minute, just stand out here with me."

I oblige, silently, even though inside I'm nervous as shit and confused as hell. I'm sure, that at any second, one or both of them is going to burst out laughing that this is all a joke of some sort.

They don't.

After Alice inspects and sees I'm not lying to her, she walks to the door and slides her gun … somewhere in her jeans, whipping out her phone.

"Alright," I start, watching as her fingers fly across the screen as she types out an email or text, or whatever. "What the hell is your problem?" Now that she's unarmed, I feel like I can speak, you know.

"Who was here earlier?"

"No one." I usher us inside, closing the door behind me. "Why?"

"We called to see if you wanted to come out with us but a guy—who clearly wasn't Edward—answered your phone."

"So you came here to shoot the guy you thought I was cheating on Edward with?" I attempt to joke, but both she and Rosalie stare at me unamused, letting me know—whatever's going on—this is clearly not the time. "It was just Jacob." I sigh. "Why are you acting so damn … weird?"

The phone gets whipped out again, and I cock an eyebrow at Rose, waiting for her to explain what the hell is going on.

"Rosalie."

She frowns, a guilty look on her face. "Well, you know how—"

She's cut off by the door. No, not the doorbell, but the actual sound of the door practically slamming into the wall from getting kicked open by Emmett and Jasper who stand there like buffoons glancing at the three of us as if looking for ... something.

"It's was unlocked," I tell them dryly, looking at the cracked frame of the door.

"Oh."

"Yeah." I purse my lips at Jasper, then look back at Alice waiting, waiting, and nothing.

"It was just Jake," she sighs, looking a little disappointed.

"Sweetheart." Edward comes running in then, grabbing me up in a hug. My arms remain at my sides for a second before I bring them up to rest on his chest, and push him back slightly, sparing a quick glance as Jacob who walks in behind him.

"Someone," I start slowly, my voice deeper than I've ever heard it go, "needs to start talking before I lose my shit. And trust me it won't be pretty!"

I look around the room at my friends—the group of people who mean everything to me right now. A group of people I love and would take a bullet for. Shit, thanks to Alice I almost did. But right now they're the same people I'm conjuring up how many bad things I can do to them and get away with it. They're clearly all privy to something I know nothing about. Something that has them acting batshit crazy.

When I see Jasper slowly raising his hand in the air like he's in school, I try not to glare at him. Instead, I sigh and play along, calling on him, "Yes, Jasper?"

He stands and clears his throat in attempt—I think—to come off serious. That would be a first.

"Can I just say, if ever in the future—near or distant—should there be a record of this, I would like it to show it wasn't my idea to keep anything from you." Then sitting down, he makes an exaggerated show of glancing over at his uncle several times.

The one looking at the floor and shuffling his feet.

Following suit, Emmett raises his hands and mumbles, "I'm with him—totally wasn't my idea."

"Me neither," Jacob jumps in.

"I just followed Alice out of the house." Rosalie shrugs, her bat still in hand.

"It was all Edward," Alice adds, pointing to him for emphasis like I don't know who Edward is.

"Baby," I say sweetly. "Care to tell me what they're talking about?"

"Promise not to freak out?"

"No."

"Oh." His hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. "Okay. Umm ... so you know the letter and the flowers—"

"That's what has you all freaking out? The fact that someone left me a weird letter and _maybe_ some nice roses?"

He gulps. "Right—so it might have been more than one letter. Really, the one that got to you must have slipped through the cracks."

Just like my life flashing before my eyes at being held at gunpoint, bits and pieces of the past few weeks and months flit together through my mind.

Mainly ... "You've gotten letters before at the club, huh?" I look at Jacob. "A few times, I've seen you looking at ... something and you never … I just assumed they weren't meant for me. Well, there was one time, but ..."

"Yeah, they were always left for you, but I wasn't sure from who. And when I read them, they always had a creepy message."

"How many letters have there been?"

"A few. Maybe a dozen."

Shit. My breathing picks up as does my heartbeat."And what have they said?" I ask, trying to appear calm.

That doesn't last long when Jacob looks over at Edward instead of answering me.

"No," I snap. "You're talking to me right now. What have they said?"

Shaking his head slowly, he sighs. "I don't remember every single word they said. They were just … I don't know—weird."

"That's it?" I let out a dark, disbelieving chuckle. "They were weird? Nothing else. But you guys are all worried, barging in here and acting like," I wave a hand at Alice, Jasper and Emmett, "whatever that was. All about unimportant, weird letters? Really?"

"Guys," Rosalie speaks up, voice slightly annoyed. "Just tell her."

With a sigh and a guilty face, Edward and Jacob go back and forth, explaining to me how for the past few months, more so in the past few weeks, they're sure I've garnered myself a stalker of some sort.

How they've come to this conclusion, you wonder?

Separately, it all just seemed like an unlucky coincidence to me—my car that night when Rose, Edward and I all thought our phones doubled as flashlights, followed by the tire. Then the fire. Jacob intercepting letters that were either left for me on my car, or my locker at work. Edward getting worried that Aro couldn't be trusted—one of the main reasons he was so worried the night of our fight, he claims. All to the present stuff—Leah giving me the letter, Alice getting worried Jacob was someone else, and him feeling the same when they didn't take the two seconds it would take to have a long enough conversation to figure it all out. Then, the box he found by the door …

When that part comes up, we all turn to look at it suspiciously then back at each other.

"Did one of you guys leave that here?" They all shake their heads slowly. "Good, get it out of here." If neither of them left it, and this whole stalker thing is legit, I don't need to open it and find a cliché dead rat or maggots. Quickly understanding, Jacob grabs it and sets it outside in the hall. "Thanks." I nod at him then clap my hand once. "What's the plan?"

My immediate desire is to get the fuck out of Dodge. I personally see no need in sitting around waiting for some lunatic to strike.

I'm shocked when everyone seems to be surprised about this.

"What's the shock here?"

"I just thought ... you know, you'd be all wanting to be independent and fearless and stuff."

"Wanting to be independent doesn't mean I want to die, Edward. Just what would I have to prove? And," I give him a pointed look, glancing around the house. "Take a look around. Take a look at my life right now. I am driving a car you bought me and this is not a reminder of our fight, I'm just saying. Also, I'm working at a club owned by your family. This condo—the one in which I'm living rent free ... I shudder, SHUDDER to think what the mortgage is. And now, in this situation, is where you think I'm gonna start shouting 'I am woman hear me roar'? No." I walk over to him and fist his shirt. "I want to live, Edward. Do you hear me? I want to liiiiiiiivvvvvveeeeee!"

He doesn't get a chance to respond before I feel a cold splash of water hit my face. I turn to look at an unapologetic Alice.

"Yeah, you were getting a little hysterical there. It was either the water or me smacking the shit out of you. I figured you'd prefer water."

"Thanks." I give her a stiff nod and excuse myself, walking straight to mine and Edward's bedroom.

Once there, I start grabbing clothes and folding them.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing?" Edward speaks from behind me.

"You're right." I nod, stuffing an arm full into a suitcase. "Folding takes too much time."

"No, babe, I mean packing in general. We're not going anywhere."

"You might not be," I scoff, "but I am. If someone really wants to kill me or whatever ... they're gonna have to work to find me. As a matter of fact, my name is no longer Bella. I'll need an alias."

"Bella." He chuckles, though it's a little strained. "No one wants to kill you."

"Are you sure? What do they want then?"

"I don't know."

"Exactly. And I for one don't wanna stick around to find out."

* * *

**Oh, yeah ... I'd probably be chucking up the deuces, too, if I had a stalker. In fact (fun fact of the week, it's been a while since I shared one) when I was younger, I did. This guy used to show up at my job ALL THE TIME. I should mention it was a women's clothing store and he would just stand there and stare. Yeah. When things started getting weird, and cops had to get involved I got another job. Cowardly? Maybe, but sure solved the issue of him showing up when I was closing by myself... *shivers* he ended up going to jail for some creepy shit. Dodged a bullet there!**

**As usual, thank you so much for reading! I sure hope I can give you another chap sooner rather than later, but again all I can do is try my best. But not make any promises so I don't end up breaking them.**

**Until Next time**

**Muah**

**(Just a few more to go I think)**

**~Lo**


	16. Chapter 16

**Woot! *Frantic waving* Hello, loves! Hope ya'll had great weekends! **

**Glad Bella's dramaticness (that's a word) was able to make some of ya'll laugh! :-) (You know, the one's who DON'T hate her. *Raises eyebrows*) Lol. But booooooo that you've had some stalker experiences! Effing shame.**

**Big thanks to Kimberly, VC-Girl, and Bridgette for holding me down, as usual. And all of you for reading! **

* * *

"_Luck has a way of evaporating when you lean on it."  
_**  
―**Brandon Mull

**=16=**

A few days later—realizing I'm no where near joking about making a run for it—Edward and I climb into a rented Yukon and decide to head to Georgia to see my mom, all under the guise of a Christmas visit since 'Hey, Mom. I might be in danger' doesn't really roll of the tongue.

I fully admire people—women—who get all ninja and want to learn to train and protect themselves when faced with a similar situation. And, maybe given some time, I might even get that mentality. But my fight or flight instincts were telling me to take flight first, and worry about any of that fighting business later.

What I needed, first and foremost, was to wrap my mind around it all. Away from home. Meaning not in the same city as a _potential _stalker.

Yes, there's still a part of me hoping we've all watched way too many movies and this is all being blown out of proportion. Not enough to stick around to be proven wrong, though. But still ...

"I know you're mad at me."

Shaking my head, I turn away from facing out of the passenger window and look over at Edward. "I already told you I'm not," I answer him softly and reach over to squeeze his hand.

"What about everyone else? You still mad at them?"

"Not really."

After calming down long enough to process everything, I went through a range of emotions. For starters, every ounce of me felt naive and stupid. I mean, yeah not everyone would know to jump to the conclusion someone was after them and that everything that happened wasn't just a sucky coincidence. But I feel like I should have put it all together beforehand. Especially with the way my imagination works.

Once I got over that, the hurt, confusion, and insecurity kicked in. Hurt and confusion as to why the hell Edward would keep something like that from me and insecure that it's the only reason he wanted me around: To 'keep tabs' on me, versus actually wanting me to stay with him. But after a long extensive talk—and okay, maybe a little arguing, mostly about not involving the cops until we have more proof—I'm yet to bring myself to actually be _mad_ at him.

In truth, the only person I can say I am mad at—in addition to myself—is Rosalie. The reality check I got out of the situation was hard. But it wasn't a surprise everyone else went along with Edward as far as not telling me. They've known him longer. They're his friends and family. So by all accounts, their loyalty lies with him. It stung for about a second, but I got over it. Rose is a different story though, being that she's my best friend and I've known her all my life. Let's also not forget, she flipped her shit when I didn't want to tell her about the fire—not wanting to ruin her vacation. Her not telling me said fire was actually arson proved to be nothing short of hypocritical. She might not owe me much, but the little that she does as my friend, calls for her letting me know something like that.

"She never meant to hurt you, you know," Edward sighs when I amend my 'not really' to include my feelings about Rose. "She was just listening to me and Em who asked her not to say anything."

"No excuses." I shrug. "Actually, no. If she'd made the decision not to tell me on her own, maybe it'd be different. But no, she chose to listen to you guys when it came to my well-being. Makes me question a few things."

"I wouldn't go that far."

_I would. "_This entire time, I fully believed I caused that fire. I lost sleep over it, even, and she knew this. Yet, she was more than okay with letting me live with that. I wouldn't wish that guilt on anyone."

"I'm sure she didn't think about that though."

"She should have."

With a nod, he laces our fingers together tighter and drops the subject.

He means well, and without a doubt, in time, Rosalie and I will be fine—I tell him this. But in this moment, I'm allowed to be mad at her. "Just let me have that."

"In any case, better her than me." He laughs. "I mean, no matter what you say, I _know_ you're mad at me to an extent. I'm happy as hell you're not giving me too much shit about it, though."

I shrug. "I'm only mad at the fact you didn't tell me."

"See."

"Yes, but that doesn't equal me being mad at you."

"Do you get why I didn't tell you, though?"

"Not even a little bit."

His bottom lip sticks out in a cute pout. "I told you—"

"—Oh, I know what you said." I cut him off, repeating all his excuses to him. He was worried I would freak out—I did that anyway. He didn't want to worry me—that obviously didn't work out well. He didn't know how to say it—okay, that one I kind of get, but … "I understand your reasons. I'm just not okay with them being used as excuses not to tell me at all. You wouldn't have liked if I left you in the dark about something like that. So that's what's not okay with me."

"So, you're not mad at me but you're not okay with me, either?"

Pretty much. "I'm as okay with the situation as I can be right now," I say, hearing a bit of annoyance in my voice. It's almost like he _wants_ me to be mad at him or something. "But I'd rather not dwell on this right now. I'm more focused on the fact you're about to meet my mother."

My mom has always been an … interesting person in that you have one good time to make a decent impression on her. And there's no formula as to who she likes and doesn't. It's a vibe thing for her. But her past has left her pretty jaded about people so there's no telling.

"Do you think your mom will like me?"

"No." I shake my head. "But don't take it personally," I rush to reassure him when I see his shoulder's slump. "She doesn't really _like_ anyone—she's not one of those moms. But if you treat me right and respect her, she'll return the favor. Just don't expect warm hugs and kisses, and cookies. That's not her style."

**((Luck))**

"So, what do you and your family do, Edward?"

I look over at my mom and frown, noticing her light gray eyes glaring a little in Edward's direction. That's the only thing we have different—other than that, I'm a spitting image of her—especially with that look.

"I told you they own businesses like clubs and stuff."

"Oh, I know what you told me. I'd just like to hear it from him is all."

Chewing slowly and swallowing a piece of meat, Edward takes his time to answer. It's clear he's assessing her and the best way to answer. I purse one side of my mouth and find it incredibly difficult not to roll my eyes at the pair.

From the minute we stepped into the house, it seems like it's been a damn battle of wills with these two.

Polite greetings were passed, Edward even gave her flowers, but it wasn't one of those moments when two people meet and there's an instant bond or friendship. Really, it seems more like my mom's been simply tolerating him, and Edward's been waiting for her to grill him.

It's clear the time has come. And my mother chose dinnertime to do it.

"Well, like Bella said, we have several businesses. Some of which include clubs and bars."

"So ... businessmen."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you're successful?"

"I'd like to think so."

"And you're just _okay_ with your girlfriend being nothing more than a waitress at one of your clubs?"

My eyes widen, and I notice Edward's narrow—both of us clearly wondering where she's going with this.

"If that's what Bella wants to do, then yeah, I'm fully okay with that."

"I bet you are."

"Mom?"

"I just find it a little disturbing when people let someone they care about waste a perfectly good college degree. Especially in this day and age."

When neither of us answer, my mother smiles like she's won some argument, and continues. "See, for me—had it been my significant other, I'd want the best for them. I'd want them to be my equal. I hate seeing Bella settle, don't you?"

From the way Edward's shoulders square, it's clear she hit a nerve, but he doesn't say anything and goes back to eating his food.

My eyes narrow slightly at the both of them, and I wonder what exactly she's referring to by me 'settling'.

**((Luck))**

"I take it you don't like him?" I ask, handing my mom a wet plate to dry.

After dinner, Edward had offered to wash the dishes but I told him to go relax since he'd driven the whole time. I'm feeling a little tired too, but I'd wanted alone time to talk to my mom. Catch up—confront her about her comments, ya know ... the usual.

She shrugs. "He seems like a nice guy. He clearly adores you."

"That's not what I asked."

"It's not that I don't like him—"

"You don't trust him."

"No, it's not that either. He does seem a little too slick for my liking, but I don't know him enough to not trust him."

"Then why the third degree? You have to know you came off as an uber bitch back there?"

"Yes, but you say this as if I should care." She bops her hip against mine playfully. "I'm your mom —I get to be the bitch and ask the hard questions. It's my right."

"I guess," I mumble when I see her smiling. "But now I have to do damage control."

"Why? 'Cause I hurt his feelings?" She snorts. "Say what you want, but that man in there has had plenty of life experiences. My simply asking a few questions shouldn't warrant any alarm."

Let's hope not.

When I walk into my old bedroom, I find Edward sitting on the edge of the full size bed, his forearms on his thighs and staring off into space.

"You agree with her don't you?" I don't know why I ask—it's clear by the look on his face he does.

"She's right, you know." He huffs. "Every time I talk to the boys or Car, I go on about how much I love you and want the best for you and this, that, and the third. But, really—what have I done to show you that?" My mouth gapes at him, causing him to raise an eyebrow at me. "Yes? Is there something I can help you with, with that crazy look you're giving me?"

I feel my head move a little—I'm pretty sure I'm trying to shake it, but I can't find my voice. Uncertain if he realized he let the 'I love you' slip, I don't wanna ruin the moment by doing something like singing about it. So, I clear my throat and make my way over to him.

"First of all ..." I flop myself down on his lap. "I know you want the best for me. It'd be pretty shitty of me to say otherwise. So it's on me that I haven't bothered looking for another job in … forever, really."

"Still ..."

"No." I shake my head. "No still. No buts. Second—" I place my hands on either side of his face and give him a soft kiss "—I love you, too."

For a split second—so quick that had I blinked, I would have missed it—Edward's eyes widen. "Umm ..." He clears his throat. "Yeah?" I nod and chew on my lip a little, nervous as to what he might say next.

_Please don't freak out._

_Please don't freak out._

"Well ..." His hands slip down my back. "... let's not forget who said it first."

I let out a quick breath and giggle, glad it wasn't made to be a weird situation.

Looking at him, remembering the way he looked at me during 'watergate' there's no doubt in my mind he means it.

What he loves about me, I don't know, but I don't ask. I don't need a list.

For him, I just love … well, him. He drives me bat shit crazy sometimes, though I'm crazy on my own. But the way he takes care of me—not just materialistically, but in general and the way he just wants me to be happy.

"I'm not settling." My voice is soft, yet stern. He needs to know this. "My mom was just being ..."

"A mom. I understand."

I nod in the affirmative, leaning my cheek on his shoulder, feeling glad that was settled quickly. When I feel his lips on my forehead, I smile and say, "I love you," again just because it feels damn good to have that out there. "That's why I cried, you know." I wince. Why the hell am I bringing that up?

"What?"

"That night ..." Despite it being months ago, I don't need to specify. He seems to know exactly what I'm talking about. "It was just a rush of emotions coming at me at once. But you've been so …" I frown, searching my mind for the word. "Distant? Ever since then and—"

"—Only 'cause I realized how fucked up it was for me not to tell you about what was going on. I started feeling like I was lying … technically, I was. But I guess ..." I don't know what stops him from continuing his sentence, but with a pinch of my chin, he guides our mouths together. "I'm sorry," he mumbles against my lips. "It's just a bitch trying to stay hard when you feel so guilty."

And the serious moment's gone.

I can't help it though, I start laughing—what he intended, I'm sure—and bring my arms around his neck.

"It's true." His whole hand squeezes my waist, fingers digging into my ribs.

Giggling, I squirm against him. "What about now?"

"What about it?"

"Are you finding it difficult to stay hard now?"

.

.

.

"Yes!"

"Shhh." One of Edward's hands clamps down on my mouth, the other on my hip to still my movements. "You said you'd be quiet."

I said no such thing.

Opening my mouth, I bite a little at his hand.

"Ow."

"Don't stop." I whimper, throwing my leg over his hips, bringing his cock deeper in my pussy. "Oh, God." I curl one hand around the edge of the bathroom sink counter to anchor myself, the other one around his shoulder. "Right … there." I tilt my body a little to the left.

"Sweetheart … your mom—"

"Move," I growl.

I'm probably looking a bit like a feral she-beast, succubus to him right now. But it's been so long since he's taken me like this—fast, hard, needy—that I don't care _who_ hears us. "Don't make me beg."

He smirks, leaning back as if he's going to slide out of me. Fucker.

"Begging might be nice. On your knees, perhaps?"

I growl again. "Edward."

"Okay." He pulls back, repositioning me on the counter, only to drive back into me roughly.

"Fuck!"

"Bella."

"Sorry." I bite down on his shoulder, trying to muffle my screams. I can control myself, thank you very much. It just feels sooooo good.

His thrusts have no rhyme or reason to them as he pulls out—pushes back in slowly, then pulls out and plunges back in with force.

Deep.

Shallow.

Hard.

Slow.

"Baby ..." my legs start shaking a little.

"Not yet."

"But—"

He slides out for real this time, his hands at my waist turning me around. "This way." I nod and lay my chest down against the cold marble, sticking my ass up in the air.

"Hard?" He grabs a handful of cheek. "Or soft."

I think I say something like, 'I don't care—just fuck me', but his chuckling tells me it came out garbled and incoherent.

A guttural groan rips through me when I feel him slowly pushing in, the angle—position—making everything, my skin, my sensitivity heightened.

"Oh..." I squeeze my eyes tight, almost ripping skin from biting down on my bottom lip so hard.

"Feel good, baby?"

"Yeah." I whimper. And deciding 'I ain't too proud to beg', I add, "Please, don't stop."

His hands trail from my ass, up my back, around my shoulders. "Hold on." His fingers dig into the skin at the crook of my neck. "Fuck, Bella."

I buck my hips back, meeting him pound for pound … literally. My pussy feels like it's aching at this point, from the force of Edward to my orgasm building.

"I can tell you're fucking close, sweetheart."

Even with my eyes closed, and him behind me, I can tell he's gritting his teeth. And he's right. I nod. I'm close, so very close.

"Then ..." His speed increases. "Why … fuck. Why are ..." I feel the weight of his head dropping to my shoulder, hot breaths fanning over my ear, tongue nipping my skin. "Why are you holding back?"

No idea.

Reaching around, or up, or behind me … whatever … I grab a hold of his hand, bringing it to my pussy, using his fingers to slide over my wet clit.

Up and down.

Up and down.

"Don't stop," I repeat for the … whatever-eth time, craning my head as best as I can to look at him. Our eyes lock, and the intensity of our gaze affects us both. Dropping his mouth to mine, our breaths mingle, his body shaking while mine stills as if in shock before convulsing into a string of tremors. 'Fucks, shits, and even 'I love you's' falling from both our lips.

After getting back under the stream of water to finish the shower we'd barely started, we make it back to my bed, dropping ourselves on it, breathless.

With my eyes closed and curled up into his side, I'm this close to falling asleep when I hear Edward groan.

"What?" I ask, sitting up. I'm almost nervous he's horny again.

"I have like ten missed calls from Jas and Em. One from my pops, too."

"How is my future husband doing?" I tease him about his dad.

"Nasty."

I giggle and decide to slink off to the kitchen to get us something to drink and give him a moment to call them all back. I also decide—angry at her or not—I should text Rosalie and let her know we'd made it safely.

Back in the room, I stop short when I'm greeted by Edward's hard facial expression and worried eyes.

"What?" I set the bottles of water down. "What happened?"

"You got a gift."

"Huh?"

"A box was delivered for you today at Emmett's house."

His tone and pointed look explain quickly this isn't a good thing.

"Okay," I say to let him know I'm listening and following along.

"We didn't want anyone to know you were going out of town, so we made sure whenever we could, we would make it like you weren't feeling well and were just staying at Em and Rosalie's."

"Alright?"

"It was mostly before and after work, once at a meeting a couple days ago." I'd taken the past couple of days off, not really dying to leave the house and all. So, I have little knowledge of what's been going on there.

Letting out a long breath, he looks back at me. The worried look gone, now replaced with anger. "I had a feeling, but it's a definite now. Whoever your 'admirer' is—it's someone you actually work with."

* * *

**Which some of you called like 25 chapters back!**

**Sooo ... What did you think of Renee? I've had her bubbly. I've killed her off. I've had her as an absentee mother. But I don't think I've had her indifferent yet. **

**Okay that's enough outta me. Now, I wanna hear from you! :-)**

**Thanks for reading**

**Until Next time**

**~Lo**

**Just a reminder, if you wanna connect: Twitter: lolosofocused FB: Lolo Eighty-Four Group: Fics on the lolo84**


	17. Chapter 17

**Big thanks to Bridgette for whipping this into shape for me so quickly! and to TWCS for making this a featured story *big smile***

**Hope you enjoy this one ... the group girls got a sweet luckward teaser and we get more info, but really it's just some good fluff and smut this go 'round. But, something tells me you won't mind that too much!**

* * *

"_Love is like an earthquake-unpredictable, a little scary,  
but when the hard part is over you realize how lucky you truly are.__"_

_-Unknown_

**=17=**

When I ask Edward what the 'gift' is, he doesn't specify—saying it's not important. I guess he's right. It shouldn't matter.

"But if it's jewelry," I say, "I should get to keep it."

He looks at me like I'm crazy, but what? If I'm gonna have an anxiety attack every time I leave the house, it would at least be nice to do it decked out in diamonds. Or maybe with a gift to relax—like at the spa. That reminds me I never got a chance to use my gift certificate for a massage. In any case, it's probably more flowers and I make note to the fact whoever it is doesn't know me very well and didn't do their homework. But the fact that it's someone who works with me doesn't bode well with my paranoia, either. And immediately everyone becomes a suspect.

Even—and especially—creepy guy.

"It's probably CG," I declare, finger raised at the ceiling. At Edward's blank expression, I elaborate. "You know ... creepy guy? Technically he doesn't work at the club, but he's there enough I'm tempted to give him a tray to serve next time it gets busy."

"Next time?"

"Yeah, next time at work."

"Oh." His face shows he's confused, amused, annoyed—it's all there. "So, let me get this straight. I tell you the person who's got some fucked in the head fixation on you, probably works with you and you're saying you wanna go back? When last week you were all _'_ take me away _I wanna liivvvveee?'_"

I scowl. Is this really the time to make fun of me? "Focus." I snap a finger. "Creepy guy. You had your eye on him, remember?"

"Yeah, it's not him."

"How can you be so sure?"

"'Cause he wants Carlos."

Color me surprised. "Well, um okay. That's ... interesting. Doesn't really seem like his type."

"Not like that." He sits up, letting out a long string of laughs. "I told you . . ." the chuckles continue."Carlos is a knucklehead and getting himself in trouble."

"No, actually what you had said was 'he was a dawg, yo!'"

The laughter immediately stops. "Really?"

"Sorry." I clear my throat. "Good memory. Couldn't resist. You were saying?"

"Well, we're pretty sure 'creepy guy' as you keep referring to him, is trying to catch us doing something dirty."

"And that's not gonna happen, right?" The mother of all pointed looks gets thrown his way.

"I already told you my nose and pockets stay clean."

I grimace at his bluntness about it. But try not to get distracted."So what did Carlos get himself into, then?"

"You really wanna know?"

"Yes, or else he gets put on the list as well."

"The list?" He pauses as if recalling a memory, then lets out a soft laugh. "You and your lists. Anyway, he doesn't even work with you."

"No. But CG is there all the damn time, and if it's because of Carlos ... just tell me." Throwing his head back against the pillow and grumbling to himself is what I assume is supposed to be the cue that he doesn't want to tell me. But tough noogies. "Edward," I urge.

"Carlos is all about that fast money right now. He wants a come up, but he doesn't want to work for anything. There's a lot of different ways to go about that. One of them—"

"Is by selling drugs."

"Exactly. Now, don't ask me where he's getting it from 'cause I don't know. He won't say. If he did, they wouldn't be hanging around _Big C_ all the fucking time."

"They?"

"Yeah. Creepy and his girl—the red head."

_Redhead? _"Chilly!?"

He shrugs. "Is that her name?"

"Yeah. Well it's Victoria, but ... what do you mean his _girl_?" I let out an involuntary shudder, but that has to be a mistake. She didn't seem too into him when they were arguing after the club that night. "Hey! So you _were_ being rude to her on purpose." I smack his shoulder. "Rude."

He's completely unapologetic as he continues. "Esme could smell she was up to something the minute she walked into the club. She said she wanted to dance, but she was shaking so bad Esme told her to try bartending instead."

No wonder she didn't know shit about drinks when she started. "So what's that have to do with him?"

"Jake caught them all over each other behind the club one night. Whatever they're up to, they're sloppy with it."

Okay, _that _definitely means something. I regret asking him for all the details. "I'm confused. Who are they, then?"

"All you need to know is they're looking for stuff they won't find. If they question you—tell them the truth. You have nothing to hide. _We _have nothing to hide."

This is all starting to sound way too Criminal Minds and CSI conspiracy to me. Tired, I let out a long sigh, which gets enveloped by a yawn.

"Go to sleep. We can talk more in the morning."

I want to argue what we need to do is talk some more—figure this shit out, but when I open my mouth it's to yawn again. "Okay, but we are talking about this in the morning. I want some more answers." To questions I haven't even thought of yet, but he doesn't need to know that part. "But hey, what did you mean . . . _'me and my list?'_" I drop my voice.

"You really have no idea how much you _don't _sound like me when you talk like that, do you?" A soft giggle escapes me at that as we both wiggle around trying to settle in bed. "Your lists," he starts, pulling me more into him, "didn't you have a list about all the things you didn't like about me when we first got together?"

Now I smile. "No, I think it was all the things that surprised me about you."

"Same thing isn't it?"

Remembering the little things—simple things—like him opening doors for me, coming into the guest room to make sure I ate and then returning after I slept to clean up ... "No. The things that made me start falling for you actually." I don't ruin the moment by admitting there's a separate list somewhere in my brain about the things I didn't like. _Go me!_

After we say our goodnight, it's a deja vu moment where sleep doesn't come easy to me, and both sides of my brain fight to try and piece it all together. The dreams I have blur together with events that actually happened, trying to solve the big puzzle. On one side of my brain, conversations and faces flash like a slide show, telling me the answer is right in front of my face and has been all along. The other tries to convince me this is all a big misunderstanding. That someone _might_ have a misguided crush on me and just hasn't figured out how to go about telling me. After all, if this person wanted me dead—they've had ample time to get the mission accomplished, right? That thought sends a shiver through me that wakes me up.

"What's wrong?"

I smile when I feel Edward's arm around me tighten and his breath at my ear.

"Can't sleep."

"Yeah, I figured. But what's wrong?" I pause, tracing his hand with the tip of my fingers. It's obvious what I'm feeling, but I've never said the words. My actions show it, but to say it aloud ... My eyes flutter shut when I feel his fingers at my chin turning me to look at him. "What is it?"

"I'm scared." I hear his sigh and feel his breath fan across my face. When he doesn't say anything, I open my eyes, frowning at the worry etched in his face. "What?"

"I realized I don't know what to tell you. I mean, you gotta know I'll do anything to protect you. But at the same time, they've gotten this close, so I'm obviously not doing something right."

He can't possibly think that's true. "You know I feel safe with you, right?" There's an edge to my voice even I don't recognize. "I'm not scared 'cause _you've_ failed to do anything, right or wrong. This is just a weird, scary thing. And I'd probably be just as wigged out if I was part of the armed forces or something. It's just natural." I mean, has he met me?

"I know. I know." He sits up, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm just pissed about all this. It's bad enough I have to deal with assholes looking at you at the club, now I have to worry about one sending you flowers and following you around and shit."

I'd never really thought about how this all played out behind Edward's eyes—how it made him feel. If it were me and he had some stalker fawning all over him, I don't think I would be taking it very well. I do know, though, I doubt there'd be a jealous aspect to it like he's sounding now. I bite the corner of my lips to hold in my smirk. Leave it to him to be jealous about something like this.

I scoot and sit behind him, resting the side of my face against his back. "I'm sorry I'm so irresistible." My smile is victorious when I feel his shoulders tremble in silent laughter and know he's shaking his head at me as well. "I'm also sorry I woke you."

"You didn't."

"No? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just not used to this place yet."

Wrapping my arms around his middle, I let out a long sigh, hearing through his voice there's more. "What else is bothering you? It's not just my stuff is it?"

There's a long pause, I almost think he's not going to answer me but he does, softly. "I was thinking about my mom." Oh wow. "I always think about her around the holidays, but meeting your mom . . . it makes think about what it would have been like if you got to meet mine."

I don't know what to say—my not being the best with words isn't a secret—so I hold on to him tighter. "Do you think she would have liked me?"

I lean back when he turns his waist around to try and look at me. "Yeah." His smile lifts up on one side of his face. "She would. She would have given you a hard time, though. But she would have loved you. If not for anything else, just because I do."

_Well shit!_

I push myself up to my knees and move to sit in front of him, attempting to straddle him awkwardly. The sadness is still written all over his face, when he asks, "What are you doing?"

I don't answer, wrapping my arm around his neck and attacking his skin with my lips.

He tries to groan out another question, which turns into a hiss when I add teeth in the mix and nip at his collarbone.

"Fuck."

I make a 'tsk' sound and move my head away from him. "Now, now ... you said you'd be quiet." I echo his words from earlier. I feel a small growl vibrate from his chest as his arms squeeze around my waist and I'm suddenly flipped over. I squeal, which turns into a moan when I feel his hard-on pushing against me through his thin pants. "How are you?"

Sore as hell. "Please." I snort. "I can take it." Oh why, oh why, did I just say that? The look in his eyes turns into nothing more than a challenge, but I refuse to back down, opening my legs wider and wrapping them around his waist.

"You sure? I know earlier I was a little . . ."

"I liked it." Loved it. "It had been a while but—" I cut myself off with a bite to my bottom lip when I feel his fingers probing at my clit.

"I'm listening," he teases, smile wide. He leans back to look at me, sticking his thumb in his mouth.

"I was . . . just . . . I was saying," my words ramble out as he brings his wet finger back to my clit, pushing it against me while sliding another one inside. My sore pussy clamps down on him and I wince, but thanks to my big fat mouth, Edward pretends like he doesn't notice prodding another finger in. With a dip of his head, his lips are at the skin of my neck, and I'm breaking out into goosebumps as he drops hot kisses all over me.

"Oh."

"I'm listening, baby." He swirls his tongue around the shell of my ear, not letting up on the movements of his hand. "You were saying—"

I grab hold of the forearm he's using to hold himself up, and dig my fingers into his skin. It's time for him to shut up, and I tell him this with my nails and whimpers. He's unfazed, letting out a husky chuckle as he increases the pace of his hands. "Wider," he says, and I know it's in reference to my legs. I'm not an acrobat, but I try and spread them more for him—for me. My hips jerk wildly against the random movements of his hand. He sticks them in and out, swirls them around, slaps at my clit. It's a mix of sensations and I soon feel myself clenching around his fingers right before he pulls them out. "You said you can take it, right?"

His face looks feral as he almost rips his pants off. My eyes widen. His dick looks harder, impossibly thicker, than I've ever seen it, the veins on his shaft look like they're about to explode, the tip is leaking. His eyes say it all. I'm in for it.

What.

Have.

I.

Done.

He slams into me and I let a scream rip through me—it's a good scream, though. Don't worry.

"You don't care if anyone hears you now?" He pulls outs, grabbing both my ankles. This is not what I expected with the almost sad talk we'd just had, but _I like it. _"Then I don't, either. Come here." He pulls me closer to the edge of the bed throwing my legs over his shoulders. He doesn't ram back into me like before, but he's not soft when he slides his dick back in either.

My hands fist at the sheets as I bite down on my lip to the point it's painful.

"Don't even," his voice comes out strained, garbled up by a grunt as he bucks into me harder.

"Oh, God."

"Exactly. Don't get all quiet on me now." He drops one leg, holding tightly to my left still thrown over him. When his hand makes it back to my clit, mine make their way to my tits, palming them—pinching at my nipples. Edward's mouth stays gaped, the skin between his forehead wrinkled with sweat pooling at the edges. He's a God damn sight to behold like this. And I watch him, features contorted, head tilted but eyes zeroed in on watching himself slide in and out of me, vein in his neck straining. Tattoo shining against his skin.

We both strain, buck against each other, determined to 'out fuck' each other it seems. His grunts rival my moans and cries. Then he drops my other leg, slowing down his thrusts, grabbing my hands away from my chest to pull them over my head.

Our foreheads are touching, mouths molding. Sweat and breath mixing. "On my life, sweetheart," he says it so softly, I almost don't hear him.

"Wha—what?" It's a moan, a whimper, a plea. "Huh?"

"On my life, I won't let anything happen to you."

Let's just hope it never comes to that.

**((Luck))**

The rest of the week—and Christmas—are spent quietly at my mom's house and with me and Edward mauling each other at every chance we can. Though I can see in her eyes she can tell we're keeping something from her—my constant fidgeting probably giving us away—there's also a ... proud, I guess you can say, glint in her eyes.

As if Edward did some voodoo magic on her, around the third day or so we're there, it's like she wakes up and decides she likes him. I would think the opposite would have happened since she'd walked in on us on the couch with his hands up my shirt and mine down his pants, but such was not the case.

I almost gag wondering, hoping, the proud look is in regards to her seeing how much we cared about each other versus the fact we couldn't keep our hands away from each other.

We leave with a semi-approving look. She'll probably never adore or love Edward, but at least she doesn't seem to hate him. I've learned to take my small victories when I can.

* * *

***waves***

******Thanks for reading, my lovelies!**

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**


	18. Chapter 18

**Yeah, so I was on vacation for like a month visiting my family up north. And trust me it sounds a lot more fun on paper! LOL I'm so glad to be back!**

**Thank you everyone who's still reading!**

**Love and thanks to VC-girl, Kimberly Ann T. and AJasper for me! Muah!**

* * *

_Some people are so fond of ill luck that they run halfway to meet it.  
_  
-Douglas William Jerrold

**=18=**

"That's so Renee." Rose laughs, after I tell her and Alice all about my mom's cold shoulder third degree stunt toward Edward over Christmas. "Grilling him that way ..." she shakes her head. "She's such a mom like that. I miss her." Though her words come out muffled and garbled around the chips she's chomping on, I somehow manage to understand her.

"You should call her. I know it would mean a lot to her."

Sighing, Rose tilts the open end of the bag in Alice's direction, who shakes her head, reaching for another cookie. I do the same—the shaking head part not the cookie— because Alice, Rose and I are fatties and have been eating our weights worth in junk food tonight.

"If I call her, she'll try and talk me into calling my mom. I haven't talked to Tanya since before I moved, and I don't want to fight with Renee about it, ya know?"

I frown at that but try not to dwell on it, not wanting to ruin our girls' night in.

It's two weeks into the New Year now, and though I saw them last weekend—out with the guys and stuff—the three of us didn't get to say much to each other.

We'd all gone out to some big Miami event for New Year's, but I can't say I remember much of it. Even though it wasn't at the club, I'd been pretty on edge and taken quite a few shots on an empty stomach mind you, so there's that. So the night was fuzzy. The main thing I really remember is me and Rose having an epic, drunken 'I love you' and 'I'm sorry' moment—which Alice was there to witness—and the three of us making New Year's resolutions together in the bathroom all while helping each other squat over the toilet in our heels.

So far the only resolution we'd kept was to spend some time together, just us girls from time to time since we all know firsthand how easy it is to get caught up in our Cullen men and not come up for air for days at a time.

And with me not having been back to the club and with no immediate plans on going back, this: having some company tonight, is perfect.

It's been weird being back—being home 24/7 the past week, hermit-style and on a self-imposed lockdown. Honestly, I have no idea how I've been dealing with it. Before when I had plans, work and other reasons to leave the house, I never realized how much time Edward actually has to spend out at the clubs, meetings and what not. Staying home all the time, essentially waiting around for him has proven not to be my thing. For the sake of my sanity, I have to figure something out and soon.

A part of me not leaving the house much has a lot to do with not_ having_ much to do, but also the fear of what might be waiting for me on the other side.

I know it's not healthy, but ...

"Hey, do you guys think I'm being overdramatic with the whole staying inside the house and not going back to the club—"

"Yes."

"Yup."

"Thanks." My voice is dry, monotone as I fight to not throw some chips at them. "You know, for saying something beforehand. I appreciate that."

While Alice looks a little sheepish, Rose merely shrugs, popping another chip in her mouth.

"Bella, you're overdramatic. Period. This isn't new to me."

Well, this is true.

"What should I do then?" I look to them, admitting for the first time that I don't want to go back to the club. While I miss the nightly tips, I can't lie and say I miss the hours or the place. Hardly even the people. "There's nothing out there right now." I point to the computer. "I'm sure at this point I've sent my resume to all the same places and at least three times. It's a big circle and so frustrating."

"You're stressing for nothing." Alice points out, taking a slow look around the room. "It's not like you _have _to work."

Cocking my head to the side, I ask, "What do you mean?" Did I miss something? Why wouldn't I have to work? Did someone die and leave me heaps of money? Did I play the lottery in my sleep and win?

When she looks around, then back at me with wide eyes, saying nothing else, I suddenly find myself very defensive at catching the gist of what she's trying to say.

"Just because Edward can take care of me if he wanted to doesn't mean I have to sit around and let him." Even though technically he is, I'm bored as hell too, you know? But I leave that part out.

"If you're done getting defensive ..." she moves around from her leaning position on the couch to a sitting stance. "What I meant is that you don't have to rush around and get a shitty job since you don't _need_ it. You can take your time, find something right. You're in the position to be able to do that. Make the best of it. That's all I'm saying."

We fall silent for a moment, munching on our goodies and lost in our prospective thoughts.

We've talked about all kinds of things tonight—the guys being at the top of our list, but not much about everything that went down before; with me, them, and the whole not telling me thing.

The drunken chat in the bathroom hardly counts so I decide to goad them a little, pry and see exactly what's on their minds. Not just because I'm curious, but also because I want to change the subject. The last thing I'm going to do is fight with Alice about my money situation or how Edward and I operate when it comes to that side of our lives.

It's really no one else's business, but if I entertain the conversation, I'll essentially be making it her business. At least that's how I see it.

"What if I just went back?" I perk up. "Pretended I didn't know I have a stalker or whatever he is?"

"I don't think you're that good of an actor." Rose snorts out a laugh. "You'd be paranoid all night, dropping shit, scared of everyone who talks to you."

"It might be worth a shot, though," Alice says, kicking Rose's thigh and sending her a not so subtle glare. "The boys think it's someone from the club, someone who works there, but it might not be. Could just be a customer who would just follow you anywhere." I think she thinks she's comforting me. She's not. "Really, anyone could have sent those pictures."

My face pales at the same time I see Rose trying to discreetly kick Alice's thigh this time.

"What pictures?" At their silence, I feel my heartbeat speed up, a feeling of desperation coming over me. "Rose." My eyes are wide, voice small and almost pleading. I don't want to remind her how hurt I was when—as my best friend—she didn't tell me about all that other stuff, but I will if I have to. I ain't too fucking proud to beg either. But my words come out rambled, "Edward, he ... I love him. And I know he loves me, but he shows me that by trying to protect me, shield me. He means well. That's why I try not to fight or argue, or push but ..." I shake my head, realizing I got off track before I was even close to making a point. "If you know, whatever you know. Please, just tell me."

"Bell—"

"Tell me!"

"Alright, okay..." she blows out a loud breath. "For starters, Emmett burned the box." Her voice is blunt, almost harsh and resentful. I don't get it. "Or at least that's what he said he was going to do. He took it from me and it became this big fight." I frown at them having fought, but she waves a hand letting me know it's okay, I guess. "Anyway, that's not the point. The pictures weren't bad, not really. Like, they weren't creepy and you weren't naked or anything like that. They were actually kinda nice."

"Nice like in that creepy, I clearly never posed for them kind of way?"

Even to my own ears, I can tell my voice is starting to come out slightly hysterical.

"Yeah, well the idea is creepy, but the pictures weren't. I don't know ... you always looked nice in them. Always with a smile on your face, stuff like that. And before you get mad at Edward," she rushes out, eyes wide, "he doesn't know what was in there. He would have flipped his shit if Emmett told him that."

Makes sense, why he was so calm, I guess.

"So, what did he tell him?"

"That it was a teddy bear, I think. Something lame."

So, not jewelry.

Trying to calm myself down, I reach for one of the bottles of wine sitting on the coffee table, chugging it back. I grimace at the taste, not being a fan of this new brand Alice insisted we try tonight.

For a long while, neither one of them says anything else. On their faces I can tell they're expectant. Of what, I don't know. A break down? More questions?

I have plenty of questions, but the first thing that comes to my mind is annoyance.

"You know what I don't get, what bugs the shit out of me?" I push myself off the floor, pacing back and forth in front of the couch. "This whole no cops thing." I point to no one in particular. "And then they burn letters, pictures ... what the fuck? They have issues with the cops? What-the-fuck-ever, but I don't. I'm sure if _I _took that stuff with me, someone would be able to help me. But no!"

At that, Alice lets out a scoff. I'm not sure if it was meant to be quiet, but I heard it anyway so I stop my pacing and look over to her, asking her silently if she has something to say.

Rose notices, too, tapping her thigh and giving her a soft but quizzical smile. "What's up?"

"Nothing." Alice shrugs. "Just thinking about how I wish I was lucky and could be naive like y'all two are sometimes."

Anyone else would have been offended by that comment, and had I just met Alice, I probably would have been. Especially now, when she speaks low, slowly and her sweet as honey voice fades out, leaving behind an accent that makes her sound a little rough. But I don't say anything, because not only does she not have a malicious bone in her body, from what I've seen that is, she's also right.

Rose and I _are_ naive when it comes to certain things. A lot of things, actually. But we've never pretended otherwise.

Yeah, life's not fair. It isn't fair to anyone, but even with all the things we might have felt jaded about growing up, at the end of the day, we grew up in a Georgia suburb. Rose is cynical on her own, always had been. The only troubles we really ever encountered were the ones we brought upon ourselves. Alice is different. I thought she was from Texas, why I don't know, but she's from some New Orleans project, and a daughter of a crooked cop. I can't even begin to imagine some of the things she's seen.

Waving a hand at her, I try and urge her to continue, and quickly before I change my mind and decide to be pissed at her comment.

"If going to the police would have helped ..." Alice continues, looking at me with focused, annoyed eyes, "we all know Edward would have went straight to them and probably before he even told any of us or you. But the cops don't like, nor do they trust his family. You're part of that now. Period. Deal with it, ya know." She shrugs again. "If this person wanted you dead, you'd been dead by now." That I agree with, have even said it to myself before. "It's probably just that Aro kid. He gets a boner whenever you look at him. Personally, I wouldn't sweat it." I want to believe her. A part of me does, but not the part that remembers when she came in here wielding a gun a few weeks ago. "And if it is that blond-haired mullet guy, you're just as fucked with the police thing 'cause he's a cop."

As I'd picked up my pacing again during her lecture, I almost trip over my feet whirling around to look at her. "What? How do you know that?"

"I just do. He's not trying to blend in 'cause if he was, he'd been doing a better job at it. So he's not a UC—not officially—but someone is undercover and he's shadowing or watching their back. He won't be the first or the last."

It's like magic how I feel a headache coming on. One that comes on every time there's talk of cops, laws, beefs or anything like that.

The whole them not trusting cops thing doesn't bother me. From what I've heard, my dad might have been a cop or something involved in law enforcement. That's how he and my mom met, at a courthouse when she first started working for Jenks. But he never bothered to show his face in my life, or claim me, so I never equated them as automatic stand-up guys.

At the same time, I've never had an issue with cops myself, so I don't think they're the bad guys either. Not automatically, not to me. But I guess from Edward's point of view and Alice's, they've seen too much bad to be optimistic. Still it's the only solution I can think of, the only thing I think will make me feel safer.

Law is law, right? Meant to protect people.

Until proven otherwise, I have to believe it's on my side and decide, whether Edward likes it or not, I'm going to have to call on them to look into all of this.

* * *

**Who thinks the visit to the police station will do her any good?**

**Thanks for reading, and pretty please leave me your thoughts! :-)**

**Next chap is ready and will be coming up Sunday! Woot!**

**Until then!**

**~Lo**


	19. Chapter 19

**Sometimes I think VC-Girl, AJasperfor Me, and Kimberly Ann T. are way too patient with me and my freakouts when I want to scrap perfectly good plots and chapters! Just sayin' :-)**

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_"Nobody gets justice. People only get good luck or bad luck."_

-Orson Welles

**=19=**

"You want a cop, sweetheart." Edward shrugs. "I'll buy you a cop."

Since the minute Edward woke up today, he's been in an iffy—see: pissy—mood. So when he'd asked me how 'girls night in' was, all gruff and shit, I really didn't want to get into it.

But his persistence made me change my mind and I started talking to him about CG, Alice thinking my admirer is Aro, and my thinking I should go to the cops and stuff. Now, this is the cryptic ass answers I get in response and had I known this is what I was gonna wake up to, I would've burned his toast, over-salted his eggs, literally pissed in his cheerios or … something.

"What's that mean, buy me a cop?"

"They gotta eat, too." He forks some more food in his mouth and I don't know if that's for emphasis or because he's actually hungry. Either way, I narrow my eyes at the attitude. "And they don't fuck with me and my family unless they're on our payroll," he continues. "Which is something I deaded a long time ago. Other than that, that's all they do is fuck with us. Trying to catch us doing shit. And really, Bella, I've already told you this, too many fucking times to count, but since you don't wanna listen ..." he shrugs again. "I'll get a few guys in my pocket if it'll make you happy. Maybe that'll help with Carlos situation, too. Stop them from sniffing around so much. Win-win right?"

Not knowing what the hell I did to piss him off, and not being in the mood to argue, I snap my mouth shut, grab my plate and make my way to the room. Behind me, I hear his soft curse, and the scraping of the chair against the tile floor, before I feel him me pulling me to turn around, making me drop the plate in the process.

"Bella ..."

"WHAT!"

"What do you want from me?" He drops my arm, throwing both hands in the air. "I've told you time and time again, I'll do whatever I have to do to keep you safe. Yet ..." he chuckles, shaking his head. I hear not a trace of humor behind the chuckle, though, only hurt. "Why isn't that enough?"

"This isn't about you," I whisper, shoulders slumping. This whole thing has gone too far, in my opinion. Everyone's tense, stressed, at each other's throats and for what? "I'm calling Esme." His head snaps up at me, eyebrows raised. "I think I should just go back to work. Find out who this is, draw them out and ..." I shrug, not really having a plan.

Pissed, or annoyed, Edward gives me a stiff nod, muttering some shit under his breath before stalking past me into the bathroom.

Whatever.

I make my own way to the guest bathroom, determined to finally do something about this.

An hour later, after mumbling a quick, "I'll be back," to Edward, I'm in my car heading to the closest police station.

As I walk inside, my hands are shaking. Why? I don't know. I didn't do anything wrong … but just being here feels … I gulp, looking around to try and figure out who to talk to, the best route for all of this.

"Are you lost?'

Gulping some more, I look over to the lady—at least I think it's a lady, hard to tell with the short hairdo and mustache—sitting behind the desk, trying not to squirm under her harsh glare.

"Uh … yeah." I try and smile, walking toward her. "So, umm … I think I'm being stalked."

An officer sitting nearby happens to overhear me and slowly makes his way over. I shrink back, not at all liking the way he's looking at me, leering at me, almost as if he knows me and doesn't like me or something. "What makes you think that?" He waves me over with his chubby hand. I follow him to his desk, fidgeting with my purse along the way.

After offering me a seat and some water—which I decline—he grabs a note pad and asks me to tell him what happened, if I want to file an incident report or anything.

"Well, I don't know. See, I started working at Big C—Big Bang Cavier, I mean—a few months ago." I see his pen still, as he looks up at me, amused and annoyed. "I'm a waitress and bartender there. Umm …anyway, someone started leaving me letters, creepy ones."

"And what have the letters said?"

"Just ..." I wish I knew. I only got to see the one. "Weird things, such as 'I don't like to share' and stuff like that. I have one of them with me, if you want to see it?"

"That won't be necessary." He shakes his head. "What else? Anything threatening?"

"Yes, but I don't remember exactly what." Something tells me the lie is better than admitting my boyfriend had been intercepting them. "I threw the others away."

"Okay. Any calls? Verbal threats on your life? Has anyone approached you? Any reason why anyone would be after you?"

I purse my lips, choosing not to answer. Even though I don't know much about cops, I sure as hell know when one is being patronizing.

"Are you going to write any of this down?"

"Miss, from what you're telling me, this person hasn't done anything wrong." Clearing his throat, he leans over, giving me a smirk I know he thinks is sexy, but it really makes him look like a creep. "If I were you, I'd get out of that place, though. Working somewhere like that ..." he scowls, leaning closer to me. "All kinds of low-lifes come in and out of that club, right down to the owners. Get a new job. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Now I'm pissed and feeling defensive.

"Have you ever even been inside that club?"

"Don't need to be." He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know what kind of people the Cullens are. What kind of people they can be and who they attract. Quit. Find yourself a better job. I'm sure no one would bother you at a nice restaurant."

"Are you suggesting I move, too? This person has sent gifts to my house and my family's house for me."

"You're a pretty girl. There's nothing wrong or illegal with someone sending you letters and gifts. Now if they were threatening against you or your family, that might be a different story, but …"

By the time I leave the station, I swear I want to scream and cry in frustration. The guy was no help and borderline condescending. My working at a club like that garners me attention I should learn to deal with is what he had basically said—how I took it at least—and they can't really consider this any sort of emergency because I haven't been put in immediate danger yet. But they'll write a report and put it on file so if something happens, they'll have a record of it. Basically, until something happens to me, until it's too late, they can't do anything to help me.

On my way home, I grab some food in an attempt to use that as the guise for why I'd left so suddenly, not really wanting to tell Edward where I've been or what I've been up to. Just the thought of telling him my attempt was shit makes me cringe. He didn't want me going to the cops in the first place and will probably feel smug to be proven right. Though I know he'd never show it, probably too pissed at the fact one of them made me feel like shit, I know he'll hold on to it. I would, so I can't blame him.

I find Edward on the couch, phone to his ear and the skin between his eyes crinkled in what seems to be frustrated concentration. Hoping we're not still fighting, I make my over to him, plopping myself on the seat next to him. I smile when he immediately throws his arms over my shoulder, placing a kiss against my temple.

"Where'd you—" he's cut off when whoever seemed to have him on hold comes back on the phone and says something, causing him to sigh. "Yeah, I'll hold." When he mutters, 'fucking pigs' under his breath, I snatch the phone from his ear. "What the—"

"If you're calling the cops for me just … don't worry about it."

"Umm … what?"

After telling Edward about my attempted visit to the station, he reacts the exact way I expected him to. He asks for the guy's name—I don't give it.

But then he sighs, pulling me into his side and lays us back on the couch. "I knew this would happen."

Groaning, I try and push away from him, not in the mood to hear I told you so. But he holds me tight, not letting me get up. "This isn't a rub it in your face thing. Trust me, I wish I was wrong. But baby, people hold grudges, and people don't like my family. I've been straight with that since … well, I've always been okay with that, really. I'm used to it. Doesn't mean I want you to be used to it though. I'm sorry, but I'm not shocked they wouldn't help you. And I'm not shocked the guy was looking at you like he knew you. He's probably seen your picture already, knew you were with me."

"I don't get it. If you're, ya know doing everything right, legit and by the books, what's the beef?"

All I can think in this moment is that Edward better not be lying to me.

"The beef is that no matter what I'm doing to get my money now, it doesn't take away from where my family's money started out. My grandfather was born and bred from dirty money, sweetheart. Drug money. Blood money. So was my dad." That I knew, not the facts, not the specifics but I figured it out enough from some of his comments. And I knew his grandfather—Ed Senior's father—had gone to prison for all kinds of drug and racketeering charges way back when before he died. "So no matter how clean my rap sheet is, no matter how much I help out the community, mind my business, stay out of the way and avoid making enemies, I came from where I came from. I carry myself a certain way. My name holds weight and not always the best kind. Whatever this is might have everything to do with me, or nothing at all. But give me time … more time to figure it out. When the time comes, I'll act accordingly."

I don't know what that means, but the way he says it makes me stiffen. "Edward—"

"Don't even think about asking me to promise you I won't do anything stupid or hurt anyone. None of that bullshit."

"I won't," I whisper. Because really, what else was I supposed to say to that?

* * *

**There's not to say about it my dear!**

**Soooo ... thoughts? It's looking like we're going to wrap this up at Chapter 22 or 23 which is longer than I'd expected this to be! Thanks for all who are still rocking it out with me :-)**

**Until Next time**

**~Lo**


	20. Chapter 20

**VC-Girl, Kimberly T., and AJasper ForMe keep me from chucking chapters more often than I'll ever admit! :-)**

* * *

_"In short, Luck's always to blame."_

-Jean de La Fontaine

**=20=**

A few days later, I'm back at the club and miserable, hating every second of it and for so many reasons.

Having not picked up a cigarette in months, I've become unaccustomed to the smell of smoke and it's making me sick. I wish you weren't _allowed_ to smoke in the clubs here, but in Florida it's very much legal. And though not everyone does, and we try to discourage them or guide them outside, if they decide to light one up no one really says anything.

That mixed in with the few shots I took earlier, trying to calm down my nerves at being back … gag.

I feel like shit. But I don't want to complain, feeling lucky I was even allowed back so …

"Can I have one of those rum runners," I ask Leah, speaking from behind my hand. It's the best defense I've had all night to ward off the smell of smoke and booze permeating the air.

"I'll get that for you." Chilly's suddenly in my face, smile wide and voice cheerful. I narrow my eyes at her, letting her know I want nothing to do with her at the moment. Maybe it's juvenile—my not trusting her even though I have no proof she's up to something—but in this situation, Edward not trusting her is enough for me to extend the same sentiment.

"It's cool." I try and smile, still avoiding eye contact with her. "Leah?"

"Coming right up."

"How are you feeling?" Chilly tries to get my attention again, and I sigh.

"I'm fine."

"You've been gone a while. That must have been some nasty bug you caught."

Tilting my head to the side, I look at her in confusion. "Bug?" Then I remember Edward and Emmett had told everyone I was sick, under the weather or whatever and that's why I hadn't been at work. "Oh." I wave a hand in the air, being friendlier than I've been all night. "Yeah, stomach virus or something like that."

"Well, I'm glad you're—"

"Rum runner." Leah walks up, interrupting her and I smile. She has no idea how thankful I am at the moment for the interruption.

For a second, it seems like she and Chilly have a bit of a stare down. I have no idea what I've missed, and I don't ask. It's not like they were best friends or anything before anyway.

Mumbling a quick thanks, I grab the glass from Leah, placing it on my tray to serve the lady who'd ordered it.

Just like before, she's sitting by herself, eyeing the stage off to the side. Though she looks into it, bopping her head to the side a little offbeat from the music, she's out of place. Hair styled to perfection, crisp looking business suit. I can't help but wonder … remembering what Alice said.

_Creepy guy isn't the first and won't be the last._

_He's not undercover but someone there is._

Speaking of, I realize I haven't seen him all night. I wonder if he's been coming around much lately.

"Come on, Katie!"

My head snaps up at the group of women calling out to the lady I just served. Smiling, she shakes her head, lifting up her glass at them only to look at me. When I see her mumble something, I know it's meant for me and lean over closer to her.

"What was that?"

"I know I look weird sitting here, but it's my sister's 'coming out party'."

"Oh … I didn't—"

"But you were thinking it." She nods, smiling to let me know she's not offended. "Trust me, I know I'm out of place but she's my baby sister. I'd rather get weird looks than not support her. You know?"

I don't know if she tells me that to ease my mind, or make me feel like shit, but she accomplishes the latter. At this moment, I sort of hate myself and how cynical and paranoid I've allowed myself to get.

Whatever she's doing here is none of my business. I've never cared much before what anyone was doing at the club—what their stories were when they walked through the door. And lest for idle chit chat, and mostly with the regulars, I never sought to find out more. And now, without a second thought, I was ready to cast this lady to the side, assuming the worst. Assuming she was up to know good.

Knowing what I know now, feeling how I feel … this isn't the place for me. It was only supposed to be temporary anyway, a favor given to me because of Rosalie. But then I met Edward, befriended the staff, one of which might have some weird crush on me or vendetta against Edward and is getting to him by fucking with me. Who knows?

But coming back here, it dawns on me how much of a mistake it was.

**((LUCK))**

"How was the first day back?"

"I didn't like it." I stand in our bedroom doorway smiling at Edward, who looks like he'd already been sleeping when I walked in. "It's—" a stray yawn cuts me off, and I pause for a second because I don't remember ever feeling this tired after a night of work before. "It's not like before," I continue my thought. "It's … weird, uncomfortable for me. The smoke, the alcohol, the vibe …" I shrug.

"Then don't go back." He shrugs, too, reaching out to me. It's always so simple with him. Don't like it, then don't do it. The world, my world, doesn't work like that though. "So, listen … me and Car, well it was really me and the boys but ..." he puffs out his cheeks, blowing out a long breath. "I had a feeling this was going to happen—you not liking being back. Once you leave it's … well, anyway remember that yogurt place in Coconut Grove?"

"The one you love to hate?"

"Yeah. Well, turns out the owners are selling the place. Kind of as is. We were thinking about getting it. What do you think?"

Though confused, I try giving him an encouraging, supportive smile. I have no idea why he's talking to me about business, he never has before. "Umm … yeah, if that's what you guys want to do. Go for it."

"It's what you'd want to do. It'd … uh, be for you. To run." He leans back cringing, while I stare at him, hoping he'll start making sense.

"So you want me to be the manager or something?" I can handle that. I did go to school for that after all. Even though I'd be working for Edward … I don't know, I don't see this ending anytime soon, if ever, so I don't see a problem with that—going into business together. That's what couples do.

"Manage, own it. Same thing, right?"

"Umm—"

"Just think about it."

Too tired to discuss any form of work, business, or anything dealing with the outside world, I fall asleep, forgetting to ask Edward if he talked to CG because I didn't seem him tonight, and since the first time I'd seen him at the club this was a first.

Over the next few days, being back at work continues to feel strange—I continue to feel strange.

For a while, it feels like I just about forgot half the people who worked here. It's funny how the possibility that one of them might harbor a dysfunctional crush on you can heighten your awareness, huh?

Since today is Saturday—a busy day, it's all hands on deck.

I look over and see Sam in one corner. We'd only worked together once or twice in the months since he'd came at me after work, but he seemed to calm down significantly since then. Even now, he doesn't seem to be checking out too many people, well other than Leah.

In the other corner, I see Chilly and she too seems to be keeping a close eye on Leah.

I think nothing of it, remembering the extra tension I felt between them when I first came back.

Maggie floats around, a little less exuberant since it seems her and Ed Senior have stopped their little fling. And from time to time, I see Aro lurking around as well. For the most part, it all still feels the same, I just can't figure out why I don't.

As the night starts coming to an end, I'm not feeling too well and debate calling Edward to ask him if he's up to picking me up.

A few days ago, I'd gotten lightheaded, not dizzy but lightheaded, and because of that, he'd been taking me to work. Of course the drama queen that he is, he wanted me to go to the doctor, the emergency room in fact, but I protested knowing I was probably just tired. My body has to catch up with being up and about on my feet for hours at a time after being elevated and perched on the furniture—couch-potato style—for weeks. It was almost a fight to the death today telling him I could drive myself, but I had to promise if I didn't feel up to it, I had to call him for a ride or take a cab, but either way to let him know.

"Ready, Bella? I can walk you out."

I damn near jump out of my skin at the lurker and almost drop my phone out of my hand. "Aro. Um, hey. No that's okay."

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, no. Umm."

"Bella, you okay?"

I breathe a sigh of relief at hearing Leah approach. "Hey, yeah, can you give me a ride home?"

"Of course." She smiles. It's weird, a little off-putting, but then again that's how Leah rolls.

"Thank you." I smile at her as we make our way out, following closely behind Aro.

The ride to the house is silent, and the movements of the car make me feel queasy so I lean my head back against the seat. About fifteen minutes later, I feel and hear Leah nudging me awake.

"What? Huh!" I look around, startled when I realize we're parked in front of the condo building. "Thanks, Leah." I reach over and give her a hug. "You're always around when I'm in trouble. Thanks." My words make me stiffen and I quickly pull back with wide eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing!" I shout, jumping out of the car. Barely getting the car door closed, I call out another 'thank you' over my shoulder and bolt inside the building.

Because what hit me with my own words is that exact realization: Leah's _always_ been around every time I've been in trouble these past few months.

And not once have I told her where Edward lives.

* * *

**Hi! :-)**


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you to all who are still reading!**

**And special thanks to Kimberly Ann T, VC-Girl, Capricorn75, and Ajasper Forme! These ladies keep me sane and help me make sense!**

* * *

**= 21 =**

_A lot of it just has to do with luck, serendipity._  
—Emanuel Ax

As soon as I'm in the building, I sprint through the lobby with one plan in mind: get on the elevator and inside the condo as fast as possible. Thoughts of me hiding in the closet with a knife in my hand flash through my mind, but I decide to worry about phase two once I'm safely inside.

There are people—staff and residents—hanging around the lobby, but I barely spare them a hello. I sure as hell don't pay attention to their looks of confusion either. Yeah, running through here like a bat of hell might be a shock to them, but they're the ones hanging out in the lobby at damn near three o'clock in the morning. Therefore, they're hardly in any position to judge me.

The elevator ride is the longest it's ever been, and not just because of the horrendous music or the stale stench of ammonia and other cleaning products I've never noticed before. It's, of course, because I'm panicking.

When the bell dings signaling I've reached our floor, my ass is bolting down the hall before the elevator doors fully open. Still panicking, I fumble with the keys and almost slam myself into the door trying to get it open. Right now, I'm that annoying chick in the scary movies the killer sticks his hooks in on the front steps because she's taking too long.

Fuck! That has got to be the worst possible thing to be thinking of right now.

"Come on, come on … yes!" I cheer when the key finally turns in the lock.

The small amount of running and panicking I've done is making me sweat like a pig and once I'm finally through the door, I rip my t-shirt off and call out for Edward. I hope my standing in just a bra doesn't confuse him into thinking we're getting ready to jump into sexy times, though. Ain't nobody got time for that.

"Edward!" I call out for him again while double checking the locks. More silence makes me nervous, and after seeing he's not in any of the rooms, I try not to panic.

And at that I fail.

When I send him a text and two minutes pass without an answer, and then I call and he doesn't pick up—I'm damn near close to hyperventilating.

All I can think about is Leah hanging around outside and … I jump when my phone buzzes in my hand, Edward's ringtone chiming along with it.

"Baby, where are you?"

There's a beat of silence. "_What's wrong?"_

"Are you almost home?" He reluctantly tells me he was down the street but decided he was hungry and turned back around to grab something to eat. "No! There's no time!"

"_Sweetheart, what—"_

"I'm not sure yet. But I need you here as soon as possible. I think I figured something out and I'm scared as hell. Come home. Don't stop to collect two hundred, just pass go and get here. This is not a drill, do you hear me?"

I'm shocked when he doesn't protest or ask me to clarify what the hell I'm talking about. I have no idea.

All I can do now is pace and wait while trying to make sense of what I'm thinking. Of course there's the chance I'm making more out of things than what's here but—call it a gut feeling—this time it just fits.

_Leah._

Of course.

The constant up and down attitude toward me; her annoyance with anything involving Edward. Her seeming to always be at the wrong place at the right times … wait …

Edward! That's it!

Suddenly a thought dawns on me that isn't really disgusting, in theory, but still elicits my gag reflex. More running ensues as I make a mad dash to the bathroom, quickly becoming one with the porcelain throne.

Edward and Leah.

"Oh God," I groan, dry heaving now.

Before my time, I know for a fact Edward had ... let's call them _indiscretions_ with a few girls that worked at the club. In his exact words, he said, "I was never a ho about it. But over the past ten years, I can't lie and say I never indulged an offer."

Thankfully, none of those girls work there now and I've made a point to tell him to never have me in a room with someone he slept with in the past. I know I technically can't be jealous since they happened before we knew each other existed, but I'd rather not have to mix and mingle with them. Ever.

Now to think there's a chance he and Leah had something going on once upon a time, I can't figure out if I'd be more embarrassed she'd spent months laughing and smiling in my face or livid that he never told me. But then again, if that's the case—if something happened between them—why _wouldn't _he have told me? Leah's only been working at the club about two years now, that's hardly enough time to flat out forget something like that. Plus she'd probably have said something by now—a little jab about how she had him first, right?

Maybe nothing happened then.

Maybe she liked him, he turned her down, and was no doubt, a dick about it. Now she ... what? Wants to scare me away from him? That doesn't seem like it makes much sense, but that's how far my conspiracy theory goes.

I got nothing else.

And of course there's the option this isn't about Edward at all.

With a few deep breaths, I summon the energy to get up off the floor, wash my face, rinse my mouth and head to the couch just in time to hear Edward's keys turning in the door.

I try and smile at him but he sees right through it and is immediately at my side, helping me sit down. "What's wrong?"

Through a ragged breath, all I manage to get out is, "Leah."

"Alright?"

"Leah … did you ever—did you guys?"

"Did we ever what?" He pinches my chin, forcing eye contact, but I clench my eyes shut, trying to gather my nerve.

"Were you and Leah ever … you know? Did something ever happen with you two?"

"Sweetheart, open your eyes and look at me."

I can only open one, then gasp and open both when I notice a bruise on his left cheek.

"Edward!"

"It's fine."

"What happened?"

"Carlos thinks he's a tough guy." He chuckles, but it's dry and I hear the hurt behind it. "How long have you been home?"

I have no idea, so I guess. "Ten or fifteen minutes, maybe—why?"

"I must have just missed you then."

"Did you go by the club? Tell me what happened."

"Yeah, I did and when I pulled up, Carlos was there even though he knows he's not supposed to be coming around. Ever since he got in trouble, Carlisle told him to keep his drama elsewhere. I told him to leave—he wasn't happy."

"And what happened? You exchanged words and he hit you?"

"Pretty much."

That's kinda fucked up. I remember how sweet he seemed when I first met him. Somewhat slick—like my mom would say—but to treat Edward like that? Because all the trouble he's been in. "Wow."

"Yeah," he breathes. "It's a fucking mess, but he's about to get brought down a few notches. I tried to help him—warn him even, but he won't listen and now I can't bring myself to give a shit. He needs to learn a lesson. He needs to learn some fucking respect, you know?"

"Right." That's always a good answer in the face of not knowing what the hell someone is talking about.

"So." He looks at me expectantly, but now he's annoyed and hesitant looking as well. "Now, what the fuck is this about me and Leah?"

"Yeaaaaahhh."

As best as I can, I explain my thoughts to him about Leah being the weirdo, since for some reason it doesn't feel right calling her a 'stalker'.

"The flowers—the roses? They didn't show up until the day _after _she dropped me off at home that first night after my car got messed up. And think about how she just happened to be there. I mean, you were there, too. But …" I shake my head to clear away the thought. We've already crossed that bridge. "And then the letter! She's the one who gave it to me. Then after the fire, she kept trying to get me to stay at her house. I thought she was just being nice at first. But …"

Rambling on, I mention her constant mood changes anytime I talked to certain people at the club, how she seemed to detest Edward for no reason and so on and so forth. It all makes sense while at the same time not making sense at all. But like I said, it just fits.

Edward sits listening on intently, humming and nodding and throwing out a couple 'son of a bitch'es when appropriate. Then to my utter shock, when all is said and done, do you know what the motherfucker says to me?

"It can't be Leah, though."

"Say what now?"

"At most, we've exchanged ten words to each other. Why would she have an issue with you about me? Nah," he waves a hand in the air, "can't be."

I narrow my eyes at him. Granted, I thought the same thing at first, but even without a valid reason, everything still fits. And I find myself suddenly hurt and slightly enraged that he's dismissing me.

"And let's assume this isn't about you then. Let's assume not all the women in the world are ready to throw themselves at your feet. Even if that's not the reason, doesn't it make sense it might be Leah? Doesn't it make sense we've missed it because we've spent the whole time thinking it was a guy? Think about that, Edward!"

His eyes bug out at my rant and near breakdown and I drop my head in my hands and start sobbing.

"Baby, what the hell is wrong?" Despite his harsh tone, he pulls me into his arms, awkwardly patting my back. "Talk to me."

"I don't know!" I wail. "I don't even know why I'm crying."

"All right, okay," he chuckles and stands us up. "Shh … stop crying. Were you about to take a bath?"

"A bath?" I lean back to look at him and hiccup.

"Yeah, you're not wearing a shirt and you were coming out of the bathroom when I walked in."

"Oh." Another hiccup. "I just … I wasn't feeling good. I got sick."

"YOU THREW UP?"

"Yeah, what the hell?" I jump back. "Why are you screaming?"

"Why didn't you tell me you're throwing up now?"

"I just did."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"_Why_ are you throwing up, Bella?"

Embarrassed, I look away and mumble, "The thought of you and Leah, might have … well—repulsed me?"

"The thought … of me and Leah …. _repulsed _you? That's the excuse you're gonna give me."

I don't get it. "That's what happened."

"And there's no other reason you can think of?"

"I wasn't drinking or anything if that's what you're asking me," I say—jutting my chin out. Edward clearly doesn't care if I drink, but the two times I've overdone it since we've been together and suffered catastrophic hangovers the next day weren't pretty.

In simple terms—he was an ass about it. That was our second biggest fight next to the car debacle that I've since tried to put out of my mind.

There's a brief standoff where his glaring eyes face off against my confused ones as if he's searching for something, waiting for something. Then with a huff, his shoulders sag and he reaches out to me. "Come on. If you're feeling better, I think I want to help you with that bath."

Bath time doesn't turn into sexy times, and with my emotions being up and down tonight, I don't necessarily consider that a bad thing.

Despite my nerves, I sleep like the dead and only wake up when I feel Edward's arms snaking around my waist.

Smiling, I turn over in his arms and can't hold in the giggle when I notice he's still breathing heavily and sleeping.

_Aww … my little sleep groper. _

With a slight shift of my leg, I hitch my thigh over his hips and press my mouth to the skin right underneath his jaw. Then, because I can't help myself, I dart my tongue out to lick it.

"Did you just lick my jaw?" His voice comes out raspy, thick with sleep, and sexy as hell.

My body responds immediately, I feel myself getting wet so I do it again and say, "Yup, sure did." Then for good measure graze his skin with my teeth. His throaty chuckle spurs me on to run my nails down his chest, but I'm deflated when he grabs my hands, kisses my palm then places it flat on the bed.

"How are you feeling?" He sits up, stretching his arms over his head. And I swear I try not to take the subtle rejection personally, but I do.

I clear my throat and turn over on the bed, doing my best to avoid making any form of eye contact with him. "I'm fine."

He laughs, I know he doesn't believe me but he continues on anyway. "What are your plans today?"

"I don't know." I shrug, still refusing to look at him. "Why?"

"I was gonna suggest you finally get that massage you've been putting off."

_Massage?_ "Oh! My gift certificate. Babe, I've completely forgotten about that."

"I'm not surprised," he mumbles, but I can tell I wasn't supposed to hear that so I let it go.

A few hours, a not so subtle rejection, two separate showers, and a quiet breakfast later, Edward and I part ways to go about our day.

I try to be hyperaware of everything around me—you know, look for things that are out of the ordinary, but nothing seems amiss. Still, on my way to the spa, I decide to give Alice and Rose a call to see if they'd like to join me, my treat if need be, because I don't really want to be driving around alone.

Alice is a flop because she's not even around and spending all her money at Sawgrass. She's always at _some_ mall, so I'm not even surprised.

Rose is still lounging around in bed, but says for me to call her when I'm done. She wants to meet up for lunch because she wants to talk to me about something.

"I can go for some sushi," I offer.

She shuts that down quickly, almost panicked like, but tries to cover it up by saying she'd rather go for something else—like a juicy burger.

"Okay. So give me an hour or so, I'll call you when I get out."

_"OK, love you."_

"Love you too, Rose."

Finding parking, mid-day near Collins Avenue always drives me crazy, so I don't bother driving around and head straight for one of the garages.

When I walk in, the small spa looks nice, with white and light blue walls. It automatically gives off a comforting vibe and I feel at ease.

"Hi, I'm Bella. I called this morning?"

The perky redhead behind the counter smiles a friendly smile and leads me to the back, where for the next hour, I fall into a relaxed induced coma.

Slightly hazy, I make my way back to the garage and decide to call Edward before calling Rose. He was spot on in suggesting me to come here today and I hope he's not hurt that I'd forgotten about it. He never did explain what his 'I'm not surprised' comment was about.

_"Hey sweetheart, everything okay?"_

"Yeah." I smile, figuring he must have been waiting for my call. He picked up on the first ring. "I just finished my massage and it was so good I almost fell asleep."

_"Good." _He chuckles._ "That's good. I can't stay, but—" _

"No, no it's fine. I was just calling to call. I'll see you at home later? Much later though because I'm gonna go hang out with Rose and try to convince her to meet up with Alice."

_"Sounds like fun. Be safe."_

With a parting 'I love you', I click end on the call and start dialing Rose once I reach my car.

But I stop and my spine stiffens when I see it tilted to the side. I know without looking that someone slashed my tire.

Fuck, not again.

I whip around, ready to run out of the garage but end up colliding with something—no someone.

"Hey, Mami."

I gasp. "Carlos?"

* * *

***Ducks***

**Next chap is already complete and with the girls, so the wait for the next update won't be too long. Thank you all for your patience. We have about 2 chaps then an Epi left.**

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**Got some FB/Twitter Links on my profile! :-)**

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**

**P.S. I'm working on an outtake, a Lucky EPOV, to donate to the Fandom4animals compilation. ;-)**


	22. Chapter 22

**The theories—I love them! :-)**

**I heart Kimberly Ann T, Capricorn75, Vancouver Canuck Girl, and A Jasper For Me!**

* * *

_"When you least expect it—sometimes Luck is just on your side."_

-Lolo (*shrugs* I didn't feel like looking one up)

**= 22 =**

_Ow!_

I have no clue how much time has passed or where I am, but I come to with the realization I have a pounding headache and my bladder is ready to explode.

Things in the garage had felt like they'd all happened so quickly, yet now, thinking back, it feels like it was all in slow motion.

When I first saw Carlos, I breathed a sigh of relief for about a millisecond. Then, as I took him in and noticed how different he looked, I knew I was in deep shit. I started backing away, trying not to stare at his bruised face, his sunken cheeks and thinner frame, but he narrowed his eyes at me with a silent warning to stay in place.

_"Don't try anything stupid. Just come with me." He pointed to a car behind him. _

_"I don't want to."_

_"Yeah, well …" he reached into his sweater pocket—making it tent. "You have no choice."_

_"What—"_

_"I'm not gonna hurt you, relax."_

_What choice did I have? He wasn't himself and with the way he'd been acting, treating his family, there was no telling what he'd do if I didn't listen. _

_"What happened to your face?" I tried to sound sincere, but I'm sure my inner smirk shone through. Whatever was about to happen to me, I had comfort in the fact that Edward had already fucked him up. _

_"Funny."_

_"Why are you here?" I tried to take another step back, but he pulled the gun out of his pocket and pointed it at me. Deep in my heart, I believed he wouldn't intentionally hurt me, but with the way his hand was shaking—I didn't want to be anyone's accident. "All right, all right," I relented. _

_A small light flickering in my hand made me snap my eyes to my phone. I almost did a cartwheel when I saw the numbers moving on the screen and a picture of Rose staring back at me. I'd completely forgotten I was calling her._

_He noticed it too, and reached out to me. "Give me that."_

_"OK, Carlos," I spoke slowly, talking loud in hopes Rose or her voicemail would pick up what I was saying. "I'll give you my phone, just please put the gun down. Like you said, you don't want to hurt me, right? I mean, Edward's your cousin. You wouldn't want—"_

_"Okay! Shut up! Give me the phone, and just get in the fucking car."_

_The shaking hand with the gun attached was pointed at me again, so I was quick to comply and follow behind him. _

_I remember climbing into a car, but that's about it. _

"Hi, Bella."

My heart leaps to my throat at the sound of Leah's voice.

Is Carlos here, too?

Am I still in the garage?

I try to open my mouth to speak, but stop when I realize something's covering my mouth. On top of that, my eyes are covered with … something, and both my hands and feet are bound.

Oh, come on.

"If I untie your mouth, are you going to scream?"

Of course I am. But I'm not that dumb, so I don't say that—not that she'd be able to hear me anyway. Instead, I shake my head minutely.

Why she believes me, I don't know but seconds later, I feel like someone said 'let there be light' and like magic, the blindfold is off.

I squint and try to take in my surroundings, but I quickly come to the conclusion that I have no idea where I am.

"Don't try anything funny, Bella. I wouldn't want to hurt you."

What did they do, read from the same script?

"And what exactly do you think I'm going to do?" I wonder out loud. "You probably have a weapon. And it's not like I can move. Really, is all the bondage necessary?"

"Bondage?" She tilts her head to the side. "You're into that?"

She's lost her damn mind if she thinks I'm gonna answer that. Then again, she's obviously not in her right mind, period. "Where am I?"

"Where it all started. Where we met." Leah smiles, and it's oddly not creepy. What _is _creepy is the long, blonde hair she's sporting. When she catches me looking at it with wide eyes, she runs her fingers through it. "Do you like it?"

I wince. For fear of setting her off, I don't want to lie to her, but really she looks ridiculous.

"Is that a wig?"

"No. The short, dark hair is a wig."

"So you're blonde?"

"No, I dyed it."

"Yourself?"

"You don't like it?"

It looks horrible but that's the least of my concerns at the moment. "Where's Carlos?"

She scoffs. "That idiot? I sent him home. I had no more use for him."

"So you … what? Paid him to get me here? Wherever here is." I look around, trying to piece together where I might be. I see boxes of bottles—liquor bottles. There's cleaning products, an ice machine, a small set of stairs … holy shit, is she dumb? "Is this the cellar of the club?"

"Yes!" She beams, proud of herself.

"You're delusional."

And bye-bye, smiley Leah. In one long stride, she's in front me and I feel the sting of her smacking me before I get a chance to register her raising her hand in the air. I hiss; that shit hurt so bad I feel my stomach lurch and tears spring to my eyes, but I don't say anything.

"No! You're the one who's delusional, don't you see? That motherfucker brainwashed you. He doesn't love you, Bella. Not the way I do. God, this would have all been perfect if he didn't keep showing up and trying to save the day."

Refusing to give her the satisfaction, I blink, trying to keep the waterworks at bay.

"So, that's why you did all the things you did," I spat. "So you could come in and save the day?" I wasn't sure _what_ she'd done, though I had guesses. I almost didn't want to know at this point.

"And you never said thank you."

I wanted to say: 'And I'm not about to now', but I chose not say anything at all. No matter what she said or did, I wasn't about to play Stockholm syndrome with her. I wouldn't pretend to be in love with her or thankful to her for anything.

"That's okay, I know you're scared. So just relax," she sighs, digging into a bag to pull out what I now know is a wig and adjusts it on her head. "I'm gonna go up to the floor and make sure everything's all set and stocked, so no one will come down here and bother you tonight."

"What time is it?"

"We're getting ready to open … soon, actually."

Which means it's almost seven o'clock and she's had me here, or somewhere, for hours. Someone has to be looking for me by now, right?

Without a parting glance my way, Leah turns and walks up the few stairs to the floor, and from a distance, I can hear some thumping of the music. With that, I realize there's no point in screaming because no one will be able to hear me down here. I know this since so many would sneak down here during work hours for all kinds of kinky shit.

Once she's out of sight, my shoulders slump. My bladder's shaking, my stomach feels like it weighs a ton, and really I can't express how surprised I am the tears aren't flowing freely right now. I think it's because I know there's no time to panic the way I want to.

Nope. It's time to get the fuck out of here.

I wiggle in my chair testing how solid the knots are and let me tell ya, she tied those suckers tight. There's no give, no room for me to move, and after a while, I can feel my skin getting raw and chaffed.

I really don't know what to think about this situation. It's not like she could keep me down here forever, and I'd sooner die than leave with her willingly. Maybe I should have talked her up more and tried to find out her plan.

A panicked and distressed sob bubbles out of me without my consent. I didn't want to cry and breakdown, but it seems like it's about to happen anyway. In a fit of rage, and in a slight tantrum, I tilt the chair and all but throw myself to the ground.

Well, what do you know—it actually works to my advantage, loosening one of the knots around my ankle away from the leg of the chair.

I twist and turn until my right foot is free, then use my toes to help release my left. My ankle is red and sore, my sandals are nowhere in sight but the bottom of my feet aren't filthy, so I must not have walked in here or been dragged, either.

The headache must mean she or Carlos knocked me over the head with something. My brief moment of victory is stopped short when I try to stand up and get weighed back down by the chair.

Shit. How the hell am I going to free my hands?

I'm not—the chair's just going to have to come with me.

The weight of it on my back, like a two ton backpack, makes the short distance to the stairs seem like miles. I'm about two steps up, when the latch door swings open and the shock sends me toppling backward to the ground.

"Mother fuck!" I groan. That's gonna bruise, and probably break a few bones.

"Oh my God sweetheart, are you okay?"

The caring tone of Leah's voice makes me snap my head up, but it's to glare at her.

"Don't you fucking call me that! Only Edward calls me that, you psycho!"

She has the gall to look hurt. But that only lasts for a split second before she looks smug. "Well, we won't have to worry about him soon enough."

"What?"

"Don't worry, as soon as pretty boy's out of the picture—"

"No!" I sob, fully believing she would try and find a way to hurt him. She'd probably enlist Carlos. Fucking traitor. Right now, I really wish all of mine and Rosalie's overactive imagination had some truth to it. He would have to pay big time. "I'll go with you," I plead. "I'll do whatever you want."

"Oh, I know you will."

And she's gone again.

I don't give it a second thought before I try and get back up, but a searing pain shoots through my leg. I cry out, cringing when I look down and see my foot awkwardly bent. When I try and push up from my hands, it's the same pain except I can't see the damage.

I'm fucked.

I lay there, unmoving, and unable to come up with another plan of action when I feel a trickle of something running down my leg.

It's warm.

It's pee.

"Just great!" I shout to the empty room, my maniacal laugh echoing off the walls. "I'm peeing on myself, are you happy?"

I don't try and stop the tears this time. Lying on the floor, accompanied by my urine, I wail and flail and sob and cry about the injustice of it all. Whenever I get out of here, I'm _really_ gonna need another massage.

"Hey, Jesus?" I look up to the ceiling. "It's me, Bella Swan. Not sure if you've been tuning in, but I could really use your help right now. So if you have any miracles left up your sleeve, now would be an awesome time to use them."

Minutes later, I feel myself getting sleepy and I can't help but grumble. That's not the kind of help I was talking about, but He knows all, right? Maybe sleeping through the next few hours will get my mind off of my situation and the radiating pain.

.

.

.

"Wake up; we gotta go now, Bella."

My eyes snap open at hearing Leah. Through slightly blurry eyes, I can see a small smile playing on her face, like a lover waking up someone they just spent a nice night with. I do the only thing I can think to do—I head butt her.

I don't know if it's from the force of my hard head or surprise, but she flies back and falls to her ass. My hands fly to my head from the pain as well, and when I realize I'm no longer bound, I try and make a beeline to the steps. I fall to my knees when my leg twists awkwardly but I keep crawling my way up. I'm almost at the latch when I feel her fingers wrap around my already swollen ankle and pull me back down the stairs.

"Help! Someone help me!" It's fruitless, I know, but I'm desperate. I keep screaming for help while trying to claw at the steps to gain leverage. Eventually, Leah wins this round and drags me back to the middle of the small room.

"Stop running away from me. I don't want to have to hurt you."

I give her a dubious look and wave my hands around at everything. "Newsflash, it's a little too late for that. Why are you doing this, anyway?"

Before she can answer, a loud bang from somewhere overhead makes us both jump and scream.

"BELLA!"

"BELLA, ARE YOU HERE?"

Thank you, sweet baby Jesus!

"Scream and I'll kill you," Leah warns.

"I thought you just said you don't want to hurt me."

She narrows her eyes at my bluff, but I don't say anything else. I don't see any weapons but I know she has something, somewhere. Shit, there's liquor bottles everywhere; all she has to do is bop me over the head with one or cut me with the glass.

If push comes to shove, I just might have to take that into consideration.

It feels like hours pass before I see light shining from the latch and feet walking down the steps.

I smile when I see Edward. His hair looks more disheveled than normal. He's in sweats, a t-shirt, and a vest of the bulletproof variety, but what makes my smile fall is the lethal look on his face.

I don't know this Edward. If looks could kill, man … _shudder … _I can't tell you how happy and thankful I am _not_ to be on the receiving end of it.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't end you."

Despite the fear evident on her face, Leah decides to go with the cocky response and says, "You're a gentleman—you'd never hurt a lady."

"No." Edward shakes his head, smirking. "But I would kill a bitch."

"Edward," I hiss, knowing he means it. Good Lord! "Calm down, I'm fine. No one has to die."

His head twitches like he wants to look over at me but he doesn't and keeps his focus on Leah. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you."

"Oh, don't be stupid, I'll give you a reason. Because you'll go to prison, that's why! And trust me, you are way, way too pretty for prison. You might take offense to me calling you pretty but it's true, and—"

"Bella."

"Sorry," I mumble, realizing I'd answered him out loud.

"Don't do it." Our heads whip around to the top of the stairs as creepy guy makes his way down. You bet your ass I gasp. "She's not worth it. Hello, Emily."

Leah's face hardens, so I have to ask.

"Who's Emily?"

"Bella." Edward shakes his head at me in warning, and if I'm not mistaken, it looks like he rolls his eyes at me too.

"Sorry … jeez."

Seeing him may have alleviated my fears that I might die down here, but replacing it is all the nervous energy I normally possess and then some.

Leah takes a small step backward and suddenly two guns—Edward's and Creepy Guy's—are pointed at her.

"Don't move!"

"Is there anyone else down here, sweetheart?" Edward asks, and I shake my head no, unable to find my voice.

With his gun still drawn, CG tilts his head to speak into the walkie-talkie thing on his shoulder and advances toward Leah. As soon as he brings her arm behind her back, Edward is at my side fawning and gushing and asking me if I'm hurt.

"Get her outside, Mr. Cullen. The medics need to look her over."

He nods at CG and tries to cradle me against him to carry me but I shake my head.

"Just hold me for a second."

"Agent James—"

"I'd say take your time, but she really should get looked over."

I'm overruled and mid-air before I can flinch.

It's a frenzy of noises once we get outside.

Lights, voices, sirens.

I curl into Edward, not wanting to be seen and not wanting to talk to anyone.

"I peed on myself."

"What's that, sweetheart?" Edward bends his head down, pressing his lips to my forehead.

"I'm wet because I peed on myself." I start crying again, but it's from relief. This could have all ended so much differently.

"That's the least of my worries right now, love." He chuckles, but I can hear the emotion in his voice and the way it strains as he tries to keep control of himself. His arms are shaking and I know it's not because of my weight—he's carried me a million times by now. "I'm just glad you're okay. I'm—I'm glad we found you."

"How _did_ you find me?" Of all the places, the club is probably the last place I would have thought to check.

"Carlos."

I stiffen.

"Edward, he—"

"We know, sweetheart." At this point, I feel myself getting jostled, forced into a wheelie bed and into an ambulance. I go into a panic and reach for Edward to make it clear I'm not going anywhere without him for the foreseeable future. "I'm coming, too. Don't worry."

I settle back into the bed when I feel his hands grab both of mine. I try not to wince. My fingers hurt—I'm sure they're broken—but I don't want him to let go.

He holds on so tightly I know he feels the same.

"My hero," I whisper, but I know he hears me when I feel his lips softly press against mine.

"I can't take the credit, sweetheart. Really, the stars aligned and we got lucky. You were smart. You helped us find you."

"How so?"

"Why don't you rest—we'll talk about it later."

"But you'll tell me?"

"Of course. How much do you want to know?"

"Everything."

* * *

**Sooooooo what did you guys think?**

**I thought this was going to end up as a serious (slightly angsty) chapter but Bella didn't allow it! **

**Thanks for reading ... see you Saturday!**

**~Lo**


	23. Chapter 23

**I think some questions shall now be answered :-)**

**Also, I've never been anywhere in FL that has a legit basement... but I have worked in places that have cellars. I guess the difference is they're smaller and not as deep, usually used for storage. And those places have only been restaurants and a hotel I once worked at (in the bar)... So hope that gives some clarification. But still, even if I'd thrown in a random basement in a club in FL, we'd be able to suspend reality for a second for the sake of fiction, right? :-)**

**Leg humps to my girls, Kimberly, Cap, Vc-girl, and Ajfm. **

* * *

_No amount of careful planning can beat pure luck._

-Unknown

**=23=**

"So, let me get this straight … Leah's real name is Emily Young? And Emily was—_is_ a suspect in a murder case from 2010?"

"Yeah." Edward nods, voice cold and eyes staring off in the distance. "Crazy, right?"

Crazy doesn't even begin to cover everything I've learned in the past twelve hours or so.

Between X-rays, scans, being heavily medicated, and officially meeting Creepy Guy and Chilly as Agent James Hunt of the FBI and his partner Victoria Sutherland, I made Edward and the others keep me company by telling me everything that happened since yesterday afternoon.

While I was at the spa and planning to spend the day with the girls, Edward swallowed his massive pride pill and walked into the police headquarters demanding to speak to the 'fat fuck' that made me feel like shit when I went there. That part was Emmett's words, in case you're wondering. And I should have known he wasn't going to let that go.

Anyway, he walked into the police station and as luck would have it, Agent James was there. At first, when he saw the guys, he pretended he was handling a ticket or getting arrested—that part of the story was fuzzy—but Edward was in his face telling him to cut the shit and that he needed his help.

A Cullen walking into a station in need of police assistance wasn't something they saw every day, so while some of the guys were still shitheads toward them, they were eager to help in the hopes they'd get them to spill some information about what they knew of Emily.

No one had a clue what they were talking about, but when James brought out her file everyone was quick to realize they were after the same girl.

And so, the sordid tale of her being on the run and evading arrest for the past three years began.

Turns out she's the reason they started hanging out at the club in the first place. A tipster lead them to her, but they couldn't be sure it was in fact Emily because she looked slightly different. After seeing older pictures and mug shots of her, I could tell why they were taking some precautions. Depending on the angle, you couldn't tell if it was her or just a look-alike. They'd had too many close calls over the years and wanted to be sure.

I never thought to ask what he was up to, assuming he had a meeting for the club, so when I called Edward and he couldn't talk, that's where he was—dealing with the cops.

Twenty minutes later, he got a frantic call from Rosalie who—through her tears—was barely able to get out what she heard happening on her voicemail. An hour after that, five agents were storming Maria's house looking for Carlos.

Since the police didn't allow any of the guys to go with them to the house, no one was sure how things went down over there. However, there sure as hell was some comic relief when Jasper imitated what it looked like when Maria walked into the police station and went at Carlos with her handbag, praying and cussing at him in Spanish when he refused to talk.

I was hurt by Carlos' involvement and his not wanting to talk. But in his defense, apparently Leah and a few people I wasn't privy to the names of, threatened him and his mom. The same names he wouldn't give up before.

I wanted to feel for him, and a part of me did because there's no telling what I would do if someone threatened my mother. But in the end, I felt that excuse didn't justify his actions.

He betrayed us all by getting involved, putting his cousin's club in jeopardy, and feeding me to the wolves.

No matter what the cops threw at him, he wouldn't budge until Edward reminded him that no matter how clean he was, it didn't take away from the fact he still had names, knew people he could call, and Leah's goons would be the last of his worries if he didn't start talking.

Carlos was singing a different tune then and no one knows what he said as he was quickly whisked away. He admitted to Leah being in the car and bopping me from behind, but after that, they went their separate ways so he claimed no knowledge of where she took me. He did know her address, though—her real address, not the fake one she applied with—and something they found in her apartment is what lead them to thinking I might be in or around the club.

I could tell that fake address thing burned Edward and Esme, even though they didn't say it.

But what burned me was it turned out I'd been lied to once again. All the little notes and pictures I never got to see still existed, and Edward admitted he didn't mean it when he acted like he didn't believe me about Leah. I get his reasons that he didn't need me acting like Nancy Drew and causing trouble for myself, but if you ask me, he could have saved me the near breakdown and hurt feelings if he had just explained himself.

Am I right, or am I right?

Moving right along.

With the intensity level of each letter, there wasn't much left to fill in the blanks, and before anyone could say 'six o'clock news', my picture was plastered all over the local media.

With nothing more left to do at the police station, they sent everyone home. But a couple hours later, it was Chilly—Victoria, whatever her name is—that told James Leah was acting stranger than usual and glancing toward the cellar, further fueling their suspicions.

Edward had absolutely no business being involved, but because of whatever legal issues I couldn't understand, they couldn't enter the club without his permission. He wasn't giving it unless he was there, in case they found me.

After all the information overload, the agents and a local cop asked me a few questions—documenting my cuts and bruises and making sure no one else was involved. Then they were on their way with a promise we wouldn't be seeing them again.

Between me, Alice, and Edward I'm not sure who was more relieved to not need them around.

When Alice showed up, she was thankful to them for helping me for about two seconds before she remembered she didn't trust law enforcement of any kind.

Edward was polite, cordial, and didn't hide his gratitude; but there was still an edge of unease that kept him from being overly friendly. I guess it makes sense. Even though they helped me, they were still technically hanging around under false pretenses.

I don't think anything will ever alleviate his paranoia at being a target, thanks to his family's past.

"So, how are you holding up?" I ask, noticing we've both been quiet for a while. I keep spacing out, getting lost in my thoughts, but Edward's been hot and cold since we got home a few hours ago.

I know he's not mad at me, there's just no way … but he is mad about _something_. I can always tell by the way he refuses to make eye contact or relax his jaw.

I have a feeling it's about something else we found out, something we hadn't planned. While I'd expect him to be surprised, it'll hurt like hell if it turns out he's mad about it.

Yet he keeps claiming otherwise, saying things like he's just relieved I'm okay one minute, to being tired the next, or has a lot on his mind as for 'what we should do next'.

When he grunts in response, there's a slight clench in my heart but to avoid overreacting, I simply sigh and attempt to stand up from the couch. I need to put some space between us.

"This has been fun, but I'm going back to bed." I start hobbling away, but he's quick to stand and pick me up with ease.

"Thanks," I grumble, when he lays me down on the bed.

"How are you feeling; do you need anything?"

I need a lot of things right now—a hug and some pain meds for my broken foot and hand being at the top of my list. Unfortunately, I can't take anything heavy like I want to. "Lay down with me."

"Of course."

"You didn't answer me when I asked how you were feeling." He's so quiet that if it wasn't for the gust of breath hitting the back of my neck from his sigh, I would have thought I was talking to myself and alone in the room. "Edward—"

"Sweetheart, let me just hold you for a second, all right? I can't talk right now."

Fair enough.

It's quiet again.

The only sound I hear is our breathing.

And despite my frayed nerves, I start to slowly fade into sleep.

That is until Edward turning me over jostles me awake. He doesn't say a thing, but his hold on me—around my waist—tightens almost painfully while he buries his head against my chest.

With my uncasted hand, I run my fingers through his hair, curling them into his scalp in an attempt to give him some comfort. "Talk to me," I plead.

I feel his mouth move against my skin, but he doesn't say anything in response. When I feel a wetness seeping through my shirt, I almost yank his hair out by the roots to force him to look at me.

"Edward?"

"That bitch was wanted for a murder, Bella. I brought her into my club. I could've have lost you, and that would have been on me." He barely gets the words out, his body trembling and chin quivering. I've never seen him like this, and while I can appreciate his sensitive side, him breaking down like this guts me to the core.

"But I'm okay, though. Nothing happened," I say, because I know he's not ready to hear that none of this was his fault. That'll have to wait, and when it's the right time, I'll say it every day until he believes me. "I'm okay," I repeat, cupping my hand to his cheek to keep him looking at me. "I love you. I'm fine—we're fine."

"Yeah." He nods, blinking his eyes closed. I wipe his tears away with my thumb and when I try and bring my other hand to his face, I accidentally bop him in the head with my cast.

"Ouch!"

"Shit, sorry."

Leave it to me to ruin the moment.

"I love you, you know?" he finally says, his eyes turning brighter behind his tears as he tries not to laugh.

I can't help myself and whisper, "I hope our kids have your eyes."

The smile drops slightly before he catches himself and lets out a strained chuckle. "You want them to look like a demon?"

"Don't be stupid." I poke him in the side.

"You'll marry me, right," he blurts, and my body goes rigid. He better not be proposing right now. Not like this. Not after the day we had. Not now. "I'm just wondering," he continues, slightly rambling. "I'm not asking now, I mean in the future when I _do_ ask. You'll say yes, right?"

I almost don't want to answer because it's a slightly stupid question. Who would say no to this man? But since I can tell he's nervous, I spare him the suspense. "Yes, I'd marry you. As long as you weren't only asking because—"

"I'm not." There's a few beats of silence, and he looks so far away again I'm dying to know what he's thinking. This is the first legit conversation we've had about our future. Everything else has just been assumed. I thought we had time, we _do_ have time, but sometimes the future just has a way of thrusting itself at you without you realizing it.

"Wanna tell me what you're thinking?"

He laughs. "Ironically enough, I'm thinking maybe it's a good thing I didn't know before."

Well, that makes one of us, because had I known a lot of things would have made more sense. They say you know, that your body tells you when something's up,but that's bullshit because I had no idea. Or I was just good at ignoring the signs?

"If I had known before," he continues, sitting back. "I probably would've killed Leah, no questions asked."

And I believe him. Holy shit! "Well, when you put it that way …"

"When I put it that way, you're still not off the hook." His look is stern now, and if it wasn't for his grin, I would have thought he was really mad and not teasing. "Because no matter how I spin it, I can't figure out why you didn't tell me you're pregnant."

* * *

**Which just about everyone called! **

**Wellllll ... did you guys have it all figured out? :-)**

**Thanks for reading**

**~Lo**


	24. Chapter 24: Epilogue

**Special thanks to Kimberly, VC-Girl, Cap75, and Ajfm :-)**

* * *

_"People tend to think that happiness is a stroke of luck,  
something that will descend like fine weather if you're fortunate.  
But happiness is the result of personal effort.  
You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it."_

― Elizabeth Gilbert

**=Epilogue=**

"God sweetheart, you feel so good."

I'm glad one of us thinks so.

I'm on all fours, my arms are shaking from trying to hold myself up, and despite the million thread counts of these sheets, I swear my knees are chaffing.

But as I hear Edward behind me grunting and moaning**,** I feel myself trying to let go and enjoy this moment. Enjoy him. Because any day now, it's going to be the four of us and I'm sure I won't want him anywhere near me. Nor will I feel the least bit sexy while covered in shit and formula.

Actually, I lost any feelings of sexiness months ago when my clothes, shoes**,** and even underwear stopped fitting properly, but Edward never stopped trying to remind me how beautiful he thought I was.

At first, he was actually to blame for me feeling like a sumo beast. He wouldn't come near me, scared he would hurt me, scared I'd lose this baby too if I so much as moved too roughly or lifted a finger. Then when we found out we were having twins, the fear was amplified in the both of us.

Three years ago I hadn't known I was pregnant, but this time I knew right away.

And I was scared as hell.

We didn't get time to settle into the idea of parenthood back then because days after the Leah debacle, I woke up to Edward shaking me awake in panic. Tears were streaming down his face, one of his hands was covered in blood, and when I threw the sheets away from me, I knew.

To date, it's the toughest thing we've ever gone through.

I blamed myself for not realizing sooner and taking better care of myself.

Edward blamed himself for not voicing his suspicions to me beforehand.

And everyone yelled at us that we should blame Leah, because the physical strain my body went through in the short time I was in the cellar was more than likely what caused my miscarriage.

We agreed and moved on.

There's nothing good about losing a baby, but it did force me and Edward to sit down and really think about what we wanted to do with ourselves. I wasn't necessarily opposed to going with the flow—knowing we'd pretty much agreed to get married one day. But Edward was quick to remind me that he wasn't getting any younger and needed to know what he was doing. What _we_ were doing.

It wasn't an ultimatum, per se, but I knew what he needed to hear. I knew, after what he considered a tragic loss, he needed to know I wasn't going anywhere.

He considered it silly, even teased me that it was 'so me', but I'd gone out and bought him a promise ring. He tried to play it a little macho, but I knew he loved the idea because soon afterward he got me mine.

After that, we wrapped it up.

Made better plans.

Moved out of the condo and bought a house.

I never went back to the club, and a few months later, Edward came to an agreement with Carlisle, his dad, and the boys that he was bowing out of that side of the businesses. He would focus on restaurants and, of course, 'Cullen's Yogurt Spot' so he could be home at a decent time.

I'd voted for calling it 'Bella's Frozen Yogurt' but I got vetoed on that one.

Haters.

Anyway.

We didn't rush to get married, though Alice and Jasper surprisingly beat us all to that, and even have a little 'Twiddler' of their own running around. Next was Rose and Emmett, as far as the marriage part—Rose still isn't sure about offspring.

Now here we are, got the whole house, picket fence and 2.5 kids. Well, two kids on the way, but close enough.

Rose and I joke every day about how old we feel, but I stress that we're only joking whereas Edward … excuse me while I shake my head at him.

He complains about getting older, like thirty-seven is some big deal, but ever since our doctor made the comment a few weeks ago that sex is a good idea to help bring on labor, he's been springing to life every time he sees me. Aren't older guys _not_ supposed to be able to get erections so easily?

I digress.

"Lay down on your side, baby."

Oh, thank God!

Tired, but not wanting to shut him down, I lie down and prop my head on a pillow. He reaches behind me, grabbing another pillow to rest under my thigh**,** but stops and squeezes at my skin.

"Look at me."

I tilt my head a little, searching out his eyes, but somehow my eyes focus in on his cock. It's hard and pointing right at me. Then his hands are on it, stroking slowly. He moans and all of the sudden I'm jealous of his hand.

That needs to be _my_ hand**,** dammit.

"Edward …"

"It's yours baby—do what you want with it."

What _do_ I want to do with it?

I hesitate; it almost feels like it's our first time all over again with how unsure I am.

Except now I'm a balloon and I can't fathom how he could be so turned on by me.

But he doesn't see what I see. Right now, he's taking me in like I'm the sexiest person in the world, like he's seeing me again for the first time. The CULLEN tattoo across his chest gleams from sweat and the one on my wrist glares at me, reminding me Edward's not that guy. I'm his wife. Have been for almost a year now, and no matter what I look like, he's right here, loving me, loving my body and begging me to love his, too.

I toss my pillow to the side and try to sit up and reach my mouth to him. He meets me halfway, lips rough and hungry against mine. My hands find him, batting his away so I can take over. With every stroke, he twitches in my hand and hisses in my mouth. It spurs me on, revitalizing some of my long lost confidence.

"I wanna be inside you."

I'm quickly back to laying on my side and he crawls behind me, sliding a hand between my thighs to lift one up and slant it sideways over his hip.

In typical Edward fashion, he's rough, yet slow and soft as he rocks into me, enunciating each sweet and dirty word with a thrust. It's a mix of 'I love you', 'you're perfect', followed up with 'your pussy feels amazing right now'. 'You're getting so wet' and 'I'm addicted to how tight you are'.

I twist slightly and bring us to a different angle. It's a small shift but enough to bring him deep—deeper. "Oh, God."

"Yes," he hisses, fingers digging into my hips. His tongue traces all over my skin, my shoulders, my neck, my arms and leaves goosebumps in its wake. "How's it feel, baby?"

"Oh … Oh!" I can feel him hitting spots he hasn't hit in a while, and my hand flies to the top edge of the mattress to hold on as he bucks into me.

"Tell me, sweetheart," he whispers, flicking his tongue against my earlobe. "How do you want it?"

"Harder. God, please harder."

His hand slides under my thigh, hooking under my knee to hold my leg up.

Turning my head, I pucker my lips seeking out his mouth for a kiss. I need it right now—crave it.

There's nothing refined about our kisses when he starts pounding into me harder. They're sloppy as we struggle to stay connected, and our teeth clash so much we eventually resort to simply sucking and biting at each other's lips.

I cry out when his pace quickens and he slips his hands from behind to rub at my clit. There's nothing gentle about this and I understand why—he needs me to come.

"Faster."

"Fuck!" He stiffens, and I feel his legs shaking behind me. He's there, but doesn't stop, his hands keep moving, hips keep bucking, and tongue swirling around my ear until I'm there with him, catching my climax at the tail end of his.

"Damn."

"Word," I huff, struggling to catch my breath.

"Are you all right? I wasn't too rough, was I?"

I tear up at his concern. God damn hormones. "I'm perfect."

"Yeah, you are." He winks, somehow finding strength to get up out of bed. He comes back in a few minutes with some tools to freshen us up and some juice for me to drink.

How did I get so lucky, you ask? I have no idea. That reminds me … "So, I think I finally found the names."

Edward groans, throws himself on the bed, and brings his arm over to cover his face. "Bella, come on."

"No, this time I'm one hundred percent serious." I laugh.

Being home and on bed rest with nothing but my imagination and boredom to keep me company has made for some horrible name ideas.

I've grown a strange fondness for all those baby name widgets I find online, as well.

"You'll like these. Promise."

Slowly he lowers his arm and peeks open one eye.

"All right."

"Okay." I let out a breath, suddenly nervous he might not like them. "For this guy …" I set my hand on my right side, knowing that's where our little boy is chilling out. "I like Felix. It means lucky in Latin. Felix Edward Cullen." Edward's smile is wide and I beam back at him.

So far, so good.

"And for her?" He rests his hands on my left side, and of course she kicks. Such a daddy's girl already.

"Felicity. It means happiness. Felicity Lauren Cullen."

He nods, his Adam's apple moving with his thick swallow and I catch myself before I can get all emotional on him.

We hadn't discussed middle names, but I'd always known I wanted to pay homage to his mom in some way.

"Felix and Felicity **… **huh, I like it."

"So you don't think it's cheesy I only like those names because of what they mean? Being happy and lucky?"

"Maybe a little cheesy." He grins, and winks. "But it's perfect."

"I thought so, too."

Because lucky and happy is exactly how I'm feeling right now.

**The end**

* * *

**Put a fork in it folks! That's a wrap.**

**What can I say?**

**Thank you, thank you, thank you so much to each and every one of you who've read, reviewed, rec'd, and alerted. I know some didn't want things to end yet, but since this was originally going to be a short ten chapped fic ... I think this was a great place to stop. ;-)**

**Special thanks to all the girls who've pre-read for me, pointed some things out to me in a review, or were just there when I had a random question about something. Lot and Astrid, I thank you for your banner and manip :-) To my girls, I thank you for your friendship, and to my readers, I thank you for rocking it out with me on yet another fic. **

**When one completes, you already know I got others lined up waiting to start getting posted. Let's just catch up on some other stuff first, yes?**

**I'm working on an outtake (or 2) ... Mina and Capricorn75 both wanted and EPOV of when Ed and "Blue Eyes" saw Bella upstairs in the club. What outtake would you like to see? :-) **

**If you wanna stay connected, links are on my profile for FB and Twitter and all that jazz. I'll probably wait until I have all the outtakes posted before I put a PDF on my blog. **

**Until Next Time.**

**~Lo**


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